


It's Just the Nearness of You

by GhostGarrison



Series: 'I Was Afraid...' Verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Acephobia, Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Castiel, Asexuality, Domestic Fluff, Dysfunctional Family, Homophobia, M/M, Mean Angels, Reconciliation, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-30 16:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3943912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGarrison/pseuds/GhostGarrison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[sequel to <i>I Was Afraid When I Met You</i>] After only three years of intense study at Stanford, Castiel is graduating early but he’s a little more stressed about it than he should be. As Novak tradition dictates, his whole family is flying into California for the ceremony and Cas knows that it’s a disaster in the making. Thankfully, summer arrives soon after and leaves Sam studying furiously for the LSAT and Castiel looking for jobs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam’s keys jingle in his fingers as he slots a small gold key into the steel mailbox on the wall, labeled ‘202’ with curvy engraved numbers. The keyring makes a lot more noise in his pocket these days now that it has gained two more keys, practically doubling the amount it had originally. But he’s honored that his boyfriend had extras made for Sam to keep so he doesn’t have to rely on the spare apartment key on the top of the door frame in the hallway that isn't always there. It’s nice knowing he’s welcomed into Cas’ apartment anytime, day or night.

In fact, that’s where he spends most of his time outside of class and work.

A couple months ago, Sam started to make it a habit to grab Castiel’s mail in the mid-afternoon before heading up the stairs. He normally spends a few hours at Cas’ apartment between getting out of his afternoon class and leaving to work at Ellen’s for the evening. By the time he arrives, Cas is usually passed out on the couch, either recovering from his stacked class schedule that takes up most of his day two times a week, or trying to catch a nap between his shift at the library and his evening capstone class on the other three days.

Today’s mail doesn’t amount to much: the day’s edition of Castiel’s preferred imported newspaper, _The Seattle Times_ , a postcard from the recently-graduated Gabriel—currently traveling the world before he has to _‘settle down and start working for The Man’_ —and a large thick envelope from Stanford’s Undergraduate Office. On the way up the stairs, Sam closely examines the front of Gabriel’s postcard, purposefully avoiding reading the note scrawled hastefully on the back in respect to Cas’ privacy.

It’s crinkled at the edges, indicating marks of enduring its long journey across the globe. The full-color glossy front features a grand photograph of the Taj Mahal and its gardens and water features, with a bold font emblazoned across the bottom in glittery gold lettering saying _‘Greetings from India!’_ Sam smiles down at it before stashing it safely between the envelope and folded newspaper, fishing his noisy keys out of his hoodie pocket once more.

When he enters the apartment, there’s a delightful smell in the air that entices him to head straight into the kitchen immediately after kicking off his shoes on the doormat in the hallway. Castiel stands in front of the counter beside the sink, button-up shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he skillfully chops something. The electric wok is out and plugged in, heating meat and oil in the deep shiny basin.

Sam deposits the small stack of mail on the counter by the landline phone before stepping up behind his boyfriend, looping his arms loosely around his waist and resting his chin on Cas’ shoulder.

“Smells delicious,” Sam murmurs lazily, inches from his ear. He peers over Castiel’s shoulder, watching his lean and slender fingers work across the cutting board, chopping a selection of fresh vegetables from the farmer’s market they went to Sunday morning.

“I was in the mood for stir-fry,” Castiel tells him, turning his head slightly to glance at Sam out of the corner of his eye before returning his attention to the sharp knife in his hand.

“Oh?” Sam hums, placing a light kiss on the strong tendon of Cas’ neck, just below his ear. “Enough to share?”

“Of course.” Castiel shrugs off his boyfriend’s hands and head, freeing himself from the loving circle of Sam’s arms. He spins on his heels and grabs Sam’s hand, safely threading the handle of the knife through his fingers. “And if you want some, finish chopping.”

Sam chuckles as he replaces Cas at the counter, resuming slicing the bell peppers into thick slivers with the knife on the teak cutting board, piling them with the rest of the already chopped vegetables: snow peas, zucchinis, and bean sprouts. His stomach growls in protest to the sights and smells, not having eaten anything since his bowl of off-brand Cheerios—TasteeO’s aren’t as tasty as they’re made out to be—that he nearly inhaled for breakfast. Thank god for Cas’ fondness for cooking and his generosity, or Sam would be stuck eating with whatever his meager paycheck could afford him, which is not much after he pays for his small studio apartment’s rent and utilities.

As much as dorm life sucked, it was at least paid for with his merit scholarship, but only for the first two years of his four-year degree. That clause was in the fine print of his housing contract that Sam didn’t exactly read fully. Sometimes he misses it—being right on campus, with a collection of his peers who were all in the same boat as him, a roommate who was mostly fun to be around—but privacy, comfort, and his own space are well worth the extra cost.

Castiel saddles up next to him at the counter and systematically goes through the day’s mail, looking over each item with a careful eye. He darts out of the kitchen with the newspaper, probably to put it on the coffee table in the living room where he can read it later on the couch, before returning to his sorting.

Gabriel’s postcard is next on the pile. Cas takes it into both hands and cradles it gently between his fingertips. He reads the message on the back carefully, huffing out a barely audible laugh with a fond look on his face. Overcome with curiosity, Sam strains to read the words over his shoulder but is only to catch some words like _‘insane’_ and _‘hot babes’_ and even _‘miss you bro.’_ Once again, Castiel leaves the room to go place the postcard with the rest of his small collection on his bedroom dresser, joining the others from Budapest, Rio de Janeiro, and Beijing. Sam can’t help being a little jealous of all the places that Castiel’s brother has been traveling to, but he can at least live vicariously through the postcards he sends to Cas.

Finally, Castiel returns to the lone manilla envelope, the large one from Stanford. He carefully rips the edge open with a short fingernail, tearing across the top in order to avoid harming the contents.

“Oh,” he says quietly to himself while peering inside, “my tickets are here.”

“Hm? A play?” Sam asks, recalling the only other time he had witnessed Castiel receiving tickets through the mail. He’ll never forget the Stanford Theatre Department’s rather… interesting interpretation of _Our Town_ last spring, the one that ran three hours long and confused him to hell and back. Cas had reserved two seats the minute they became available, saying it will be one of the best college-level productions of the play ever performed, and he was thankfully not disappointed. Weird play aside, Sam couldn’t really complain about the date overall; they went to dinner at a new ‘organic restaurant’ just off of campus before and curled up together on Cas’ couch afterward, watching reruns of “Magnum P.I.” and “Matlock” until they fell asleep.

“No…” Castiel hesitates, eyes darting aside. “These are the extra graduation tickets I requested.”

Sam’s mind stumbles a little over the word ‘graduation.’ It’s weird, it’s like he completely forgot that Castiel is graduating a year earlier than most, after attending Stanford for only three years. Or maybe he subconsciously pushed it out of his mind, not wanting to think about what Cas might do or where he might go after earning his Bachelor’s degree.

“That’s soon, right?” Sam says, wincing because he knows it’s a stupid question to ask. He knows when the ceremony is. Hell, everyone knows when graduation is. Campus is always flooded with families, parents, and prospective students during that weekend, making it difficult to efficiently move in and out of dormitories and apartments or find a place to park anywhere within a few block radius of campus. Graduation is one hell of a hassle for all involved.

Castiel nods. “The Sunday after finals, yes.”

“Right,” Sam sighs before plastering on a smirk, nudging him with an elbow playfully. “You sure you don’t wanna take on that second major in Philosophy and stick around for another year?”

“Funny,” Cas counters dryly, returning Sam’s smile with a quirk of his lips. “But no. Although I find the subject interesting, I despise most of the professors in the Philosophy department. I could barely get through two classes. Another forty credits with them would be unbearable.”

He tips the white envelope over, shaking it gently until the contents empty out onto the counter beside the cutting board. Sam’s eyes widen as more and more pieces of paper fall out of the white envelope, spreading out on the granite like a pool at the bottom of a waterfall. There had to be almost a dozen tickets there.

“Dude, that’s a ton of tickets. Why so many?”

He almost misses it, but Castiel’s lips press into a thin line as he avoids meeting Sam’s gaze by staring down at the pieces of paper before him. He shuffles the tickets into a neat stack before hastily shoving them back into the envelope.

“Well,” he begins, “it’s tradition for the entire family to attend the graduation ceremony, and mine is no different, despite being a year early.”

“Ah, well—wait, the _entire_ family?” Sam slows his chopping to a stop, turning to stare at him. “And just how many people is that?”

“Only nine,” Castiel shrugs in nonchalance, like it’s not an absurd number. “Aunt Naomi cannot make it due to some sort of restriction with her administrative job with a new company, but everyone else should be there. They prefer the VIP section closer to the stage, so I requested special tickets.”

“Wow,” Sam replies, returning his attention to the half-chopped bell pepper before him. “That’s… a lot.”

“It’s just close family.”

 _‘Is it though?’_ Sam thinks. He’s never known family, certainly not like Castiel has. His dad is gone and Dean is somewhere, drifting from town to town and state to state like a plastic bag in the wind across El Camino Real. Would anyone even attend his own graduation? Well, probably Dean and Cas—but what would Sam do with his extra tickets? Stanford allocates a default number of four standard tickets per graduate...

“Of course,” Cas continues, sounding uncharacteristically unsure of his words. “You… I mean, you’re welcome to come.”

“What?”

“I have an extra ticket. I mean it’s not an _extra_ ticket, but I—” he begins to stammer nervously, “—I requested it... thinking maybe you’d—”

Sam cuts him off with a kiss, a soft dry press of their lips as he cradles the side of Cas’ face in the hand not currently occupied with the paring knife. Castiel immediately relaxes, melting into the contact and eyes fluttering closed.

When they pull away from each other, leaving only a couple of inches between them, Sam smiles at him with affection. “Of course I’ll go to your graduation. Wouldn’t dream of missing it.”

“Thank you,” Castiel mumbles, eyelids lowering again as he moves in closer.

Their lips almost meet but they’re sadly interrupted by the shrill beeping of the electric wok, signaling it was finally ready for additions. Castiel sighs thoughtfully, quickly pecking his lips before crossing the kitchen to stir the contents of the metal bowl. Sam is right behind him, carrying the cutting board of prepared vegetables to add to the wok. The oil sizzles and splatters as he pours them in and Castiel starts furiously stirring the contents with a wooden spoon.

They forgo eating dinner properly at the small kitchen table and eat on the couch instead, legs tucked up underneath them as Castiel flips through the upper-hundreds, looking for a channel playing a movie of acceptable quality. He finally settles on an old black and white war movie, something having to do with a revolutionary battle between France and Algeria that apparently won some awards.

Sam barely pays attention, carefully balancing his plate of chicken and vegetable stir-fry on one knee and his American Foreign Policy book on the other. Finals are coming up all too quickly and despite being pretty on top of his classes and studying, he’s still relatively nervous about the intensity of finals week. In particular, he absolutely dreads taking Professor Walker’s final exam. Rebecca took his policy class during fall quarter and Sam witnessed for himself the destruction it wreaked on her. Apparently, the professor is an absolutely sadistic man who doesn’t care about his pass-rate or about testing his students on things they learned in class.

Man, the last two weeks of the quarter will be rough.

Final exams are now only days away and Sam finds himself spending a majority of his waking hours at the library—and hell, he spends a few of his sleeping hours there too, nodding off periodically while hunched over a pile of books hoarded from the reference stacks in the basement. He finds it hard to focus on studying and writing papers when he’s in his own apartment because his bed is very distracting, but he also finds studying at Castiel’s apartment equally distracting for different reasons altogether. Taking eighteen credits feels like such a mistake now, but of course it sounded like a good idea during the term’s registration.

As they say, hindsight is twenty-twenty.

However, there are some positives of finals week too but they don’t amount to much in comparison to all the shit he’s going through. Ellen always gives him the week off, or highly-flexible hours if Sam still chooses to work. She told him she refuses to employ a failing student but Sam could tell she really did have a soft spot for him—thankfully for him, his grades, and his sanity. There’s also the fact that the campus coffee shop has extended business hours and stocks more bagels and muffins than usual is always a nice plus.

Unfortunately, with his more scholarly priorities and upcoming deadlines, Sam doesn’t get to see Cas as much as he usually does. But at least his boyfriend understands the struggle.

Or so he says. Castiel has had a full load of classes since the very first day he enrolled at Stanford, even taking classes during the summer quarter in order to graduate a year early. His senior research thesis has been done for weeks— _‘it practically wrote itself,’_ Castiel once told him and Sam thinks that’s the craziest shit he’s ever heard—and his spring quarter was full of basic common curriculum classes that he put off taking until the very end, like Ancient Egyptian History, Intro to Academic Writing, and Beginning Russian III.

The man has self-discipline and time management skills that would make any student, or even a professor, jealous.

However, when Sam does spend time with Cas, he notices the tension tightening in his shoulders and the frown-lines building in the edges of his face, despite apparently not being stressed about finals. No, it seems Castiel is stressed out of his mind for an entirely different reason.

Sam decides to drop by Castiel’s apartment for the afternoon, skipping the library for the time being but making an oath to return later for a late night of intensive work as he walks past the gigantic red-roofed monster of a building. It towers over him menacingly as he walks past, and Sam has to blink several times to try to shake off the bad vibes coming from it.

When he checks, there’s a mid-sized package stuffed into Cas’ mailbox, corners bent and just barely fitting into the slot. Sam wrestles it out without ripping the puffy bubble-envelope and feels mildly accomplished over the feat in comparison to his barely-written papers. Pathetic.

In the apartment, a yawning and bleary-eyed Castiel tears into the package while kneeling on the carpet, pulling out a plastic-wrapped black blob and a black mortar board.

“Ah,” Castiel remarks, not knowing what else to say about the graduation gown as he pulled it from the plastic.

Sam looks up from his Comparative Politics anthology book, pen still tapping against his jaw. “Is that...?”

“Yeah,” he answers, a tiny frown growing as he stares down at the fabric that is pooling in his lap.

“Well?” Sam raises his brows, vaguely gesturing towards the gown with the chewed end of his pen. “Try it on.”

“I don’t think there’s a possibility that this wouldn’t fit,” Castiel protests, holding the gown against his chest.

“Cas, just do it.”

“Fine,” Castiel replies indignantly, promptly standing up and flinging the gown over his shoulders. Sam tries not to laugh but Cas is practically swimming in the thing. He isn’t a small guy but maybe he ordered it in one size too big for him.

Sam watches him hook the front closed and the hem brushes the floor when Cas bends down to pick up the mortar board. He pulls it over his head, but the cap immediately tips sideways, sitting askew on the top of Castiel’s messy hair.

The task of trying not to laugh is getting a little harder now.

“This isn’t right.” He frowns, staring down at hands, nearly covered by the extra long sleeves. “This is made for giants.”

Sam actually starts laughing.

“Or for you, you giant!” Castiel cries, glaring pointedly at him. “Stop laughing, Sam.”

“Only after this,” Sam replies, pulling out his phone and quickly snapping a picture of his disgruntled boyfriend, dwarfed by the graduation gown. Ah, a picture worth keeping for his personal stash of ‘Candid Cas’ photos he keeps hidden away in a folder on his phone. Cas’ shoulders slump in defeat and starts undoing the front of his robe. “Come here.”

Castiel’s eyes dart up to meet Sam’s for only a second before he continues to unbutton the gown.

“Please,” Sam says, gesturing for Castiel to come closer. When he’s finally within reach, Sam pulls him down by the collar into a rough kiss.

It takes a moment for him to get with the program, but Castiel braces himself with a hand on the back of the couch, hand splayed against the dark suede somewhere over Sam’s shoulder. As their lips brush together, Cas’ mortar board cap slides off, dropping to floor with a quiet thump. They pull apart quietly after a minute and Sam reluctantly returns to his studying.

“There’s no time to exchange it for a smaller size,” Castiel mumbles defeatedly while shoving the disappointing gown back into the packaging before retreating into his bedroom to put it away.

Of course, having to get his gown altered somewhere in the area is a disaster in itself and only adds to Castiel’s snowballing graduation-induced stress. It’s only days away and while Sam is in the midst of one of the most agonizing exam weeks of his life, his boyfriend is so tense that he could snap any moment like a tight violin string.

Sam knows better than to ask any questions; Cas will tell him what he’s worried about when he’s ready.

Just after Sam’s Public Affairs final at a painfully early eight AM administration time, Castiel brings the topic up himself while they’re laying lazily about on the couch, spooned together while the television plays _The Wizard of Oz_ in color on the lowest audible volume possible.

“My family starts arriving tomorrow,” Cas says, rolling in Sam’s encircled arms to bury his face against the warm skin of Sam’s neck.

“Oh?” Sam mumbles, rousing from his dozing. “That’s good.”

“No, it’s not.” Castiel frowns against his collarbone. “I mean, I’m not particularly excited.”

“For graduation or your family?”

“My family…” Sam absently runs a hand over the lower knobs of Cas’ spine, bent on rubbing out some of the tension kept there as he waits for Cas to continue. “They’re just… it’s just very exhausting.”

When Sam doesn’t answer, Castiel squeezes him in a slight hug before pressing himself against Sam’s chest. “At least the one person I want to be there is going to be.”

As finals week wraps up, Castiel is constantly on his phone: making reservations for this and that, arranging private transportation to those who haven’t already reserved it, and recommending restaurants for various tastes. Sam already knows his family is a little on the crazy side—calling him all the time for god knows what and he can tell it’s driving Castiel to his wits’ end. Sam often arrives to an empty apartment, only to find out that some family member has come and dragged his boyfriend away for dinner or lunch or coffee for some catching up. He supposes that’s a good thing that they’re spending time together, but when Castiel invites him over for a few hours in the evening, he always seems more frazzled than when Sam last saw him.

“Do you think it’s too late to pursue that second major?” Castiel deadpans during the commercial break of _Citizen Kane._

“Haha, no,” Sam smiles over the rim of his glass before taking a gulp. “Pretty sure you’re stuck with graduating at this point.”

“Damn.” Cas rubs the bridge of his nose between two fingertips. “I have already grown tired of them. Normally they are fine, in small doses.”

“Nine of them all at once isn’t really a small dose,” Sam quips, only to earn a steely glare blazing in his direction. “Um.”

“No, you’re right.” Castiel sighs, shoulders sagging as he nods once in agreement. “I would really love for this weekend to go quickly. The Novak family doesn’t belong in the same city. Thankfully they’re not all in the same hotel.”

“They’re not?” For some reason, Sam had this really strange mental picture of all of Cas’ family staying in the same hall of a classy hotel downtown, in a block of reserved rooms like for a wedding or something. It’s a silly mental picture, but it’s all Sam has had to work with. He’s never met anyone in Castiel’s family other than Gabriel and Balthazar, one of which is thankfully graduated and out of their hair and no longer threatening Sam with _The Godfather_ -style bodily harm. It took the better part of the year, but he finally earned their trust. Or at least, they don’t want to kill him anymore.

“Oh, definitely not. My family can’t stand each other,” Castiel retorts bitterly before amending his claim. “Well, I suppose the younger generation can—meaning Anna, Gabriel, Balthazar and I. The rest, well… Let’s just say they have been calling me in order to find out where others are staying, to make sure they’re not booking the same hotel.”

Sam shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s fucking insane.”

“That’s simply how my family works,” Castiel simply responds with a shrug.

A bright golden sun rises in the sky on the Sunday morning of Stanford’s undergraduate graduation commencement, and Sam’s head hasn’t been this clear since last September when classes began. Spring quarter finals are over, and despite the fact that he has an inkling that he totally botched the essay for his American Foreign Policy exam, he’s feels relatively stressless and worry-free. There’s nothing he can do about it now.

Standing in front of the cracked bathroom mirror in his tiny bathroom, Sam weaves his charcoal gray tie into a double windsor knot around his neck, standing out in stark contrast from his crisp white shirt he ironed at midnight. It’s the only suit he owns—the one he wore to his interview with the Stanford admissions officer that visited his high school and his short interview with Ellen before she nearly hired him on the spot. Sam decides against wearing the matching jacket as the temperature outside is predicted to be in the mid-seventies all day. The last thing he needs is to sweat like a dog when he might be meeting Cas’ family.

During breakfast, Castiel texts him and Sam can practically hear the stony tone of his voice when reading it.

_[Cas: My aunt insisted on taking photos before the ceremony. It’s too early for Anna to be flashing her camera straight into my eyes. We’re in public and it’s embarrassing.]_

Sam chuckles, quickly typing out a text.

_[Sam: Send me a pic.]_

_[Cas: No.]_

_[Sam: Please.]_

_[Cas: No.]_

_[Sam: Aw, come on.]_

_[Cas: You first.]_

_[Sam: What?]_

_[Cas: It was your suggestion. Equal exchange is only fair.]_

Sighing in defeat, Sam activates his phone’s camera, turning it around and pointing it at his face. His finger hovers over the button as he tries to decide what kind of picture to take. Out of reflex, he smiles at first but then frowns and furrows his eyebrows and squints at the camera. Sam finally settles with a goofy expression, with one eye closed in a wink and his cheeks puffed out with a mouthful of air. At last second, he crosses his eyes instead and snaps the photo.

It’s probably one of the most ridiculous photos of him that has ever existed but he sends it anyways. Hopefully it’ll make Castiel laugh in the midst of his rather humorless situation.

There’s no response regarding his photo, but Sam’s phone dings a few minutes later, indicating an incoming text. The photo that comes through makes Sam laugh into his bowl of cereal and he struggles to not spit it out by accident.

Upon closer inspection, Cas has sent him a selfie. Well, a sort-of-selfie. Taken at an arm’s length, Castiel managed to catch only half of his face in the frame. He’s shooting the most dirty look he’s ever seen over his shoulder but Sam can’t see further down than the bridge of his nose. The rest of the shot is of a scene behind him, visible just over his shoulder. Sam spots a small crowd of of well-dressed people standing in the background. Even if he can’t see their faces, he can make out the spiky blond hair of Balthazar and the short honey-brown hair of Gabriel at the forefront of the group.

He saves the photo to a folder in his phone, figuring that Castiel has probably already saved the photo Sam sent him. Like he said before, it’s an ‘equal exchange.’

Before he locks up his apartment, Sam triple-checks his bag for Cas’ camera—borrowed because Sam doesn’t own one and his ancient flip phone doesn’t have a zoom function—and his chest pocket for the graduation ticket, safely stashed between the pressed cotton folds. He knows he’s being a little paranoid about it, but he knows his attendance is very important to Castiel and he doesn’t want to miss it by doing something as dumb as losing the ticket the morning of graduation.

That would be just his luck.

It doesn’t surprise him that campus is crawling with people—students lounging on the grassy lawn of the Oval now that classes are over until the autumn and hundreds upon hundreds of happy-looking families walking with their grads towards the Stanford Stadium for the commencement. He keeps an eye out for Castiel or recognizable Novaks but he doesn’t spot anyone he knows except a few of his fellow students and a TA from last quarter’s Politics & Development class.

As he waits in a seemingly endless line to get ushered into the stadium, his phone dings with a text, barely audible over the chattering of the growing crowd.

_[Cas: Are you here?]_

_[Sam: Yeah. Waiting in line. You?]_

_[Cas: Yes, I am in one of the side gymnasiums. They are lining us alphabetically, by department.]_

Sam hesitates before asking a question that’s been nagging at his brain all morning. He isn’t sure how it’ll sound when he asks, but he’s just curious. It takes a couple of times to word it very carefully.

_[Sam: So are all the tickets together?]_

_[Cas: Yes. My group of tickets should take up an entire row. I put you on the aisle for easy escape route.]_

_[Sam: You’re perfect.]_

_[Cas: I know. Good luck.]_

_[Sam: Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?]_

_[Cas: You’re the one who’s sitting with my family. I’m not.]_

Frowning at his phone, Sam follows the bored volunteer usher down rows of red stadium chairs, slowly but surely filling up with people—families with parents, grandparents, children, and even grandchildren, all eager to watch their loved ones graduate from college.

The stadium itself is vastly different than usual, not that Sam attended many games or events there. There’s a stage set up in the middle of the field, decorated with banners in the school’s colors and crest. The ornate podium stands tall in the center of the stage, surrounded by an arc of what looks like uncomfortable red chairs for the dozens of faculty members attending. The entire front section of the seats on the field are roped off for the graduates, empty until the procession.

When the usher stops in front of him, Sam turns to find that the row is already filled except for the one seat on the aisle. Bracing himself, he quickly glances down the row before taking his seat.

It’s filled with Castiel’s family and suddenly Sam feels nervous. Most don’t pay him any mind as he sits down next to a blonde woman in a smart business suit, checking her makeup in a small compact mirror in her palm. Next to her is a short squat man who watches the empty stage carefully. Beside him is another man, this time tall and dark, speaking to another woman who seems to be absorbed in whatever she is reading on her gold trimmed Blackberry. At the end, there’s another black haired man who sits patiently next to another young blond who seems bored with the whole ordeal already.

Thankfully there are also some familiar faces as well. Gabriel and Balthazar sit beside the blond man, and they both lean forward in their seats to catch Sam’s attention, wiggling their eyebrows and smiling snidely at him but nothing more. Sam recognizes the gorgeous redhead beside them as Castiel’s sister Anna, flanked on her left by another young man with dark hair, perfectly combed back to match the crispness of his suit. They’re all impeccably dressed and Sam feels severely underdressed in just his shirt and tie.

When the graduation march begins, students begin to filter in from all entrances, neatly filing into their assigned rows. Sam uses the impressive zoom lens on the DSLR camera but he can’t seem to spot Castiel anywhere in the sea of black gowns and caps.

The ceremony starts with a lineup of rather boring speakers. Chancellor Penn gives a long speech, droning on and on about the history and the importance of the university and Sam could swear it was the same one that he gave during orientation in his freshman year. The keynote speaker is an alum who founded his own successful architecture firm, constantly capitalizing on how his Stanford education is the only thing that got him where he is today. The success story causes a few parents to tear up, but the man has a monotone voice that could put even a highly-caffeinated student to sleep.

Finally, the Chancellor and select faculty members begin reading off the names, going alphabetically, organized by department starting with the largest ones first. He’s not usually an impatient guy but Sam finds himself glancing at his watch every few minutes, wondering when they’d call out Castiel’s department.

 _‘Last. Probably last,’_ Sam thinks when thinking about the number of students in Cas’ program.

After about an hour, the Media & Film Studies department is announced and a small section of the student block rises to stand and line up at the edge of the stage. Novak is in the middle of the alphabet, and Sam counts down the line of students.

He readies the camera, taking a few test pictures and adjusting some of the settings to get a decent shot. Zooming in again and using the camera like binoculars, he finds Castiel in the line, standing behind a blonde girl who looks like she’s about to burst with pride and in front of a guy who seems to be texting within the folds of his gown. He snaps a few photos while waiting, listening to families and friends around the stadium cheer their graduates on when they are called. The blonde girl before him receives an enthusiastic chant: “Go Cindy!”

“Castiel James Novak,” the Chancellor announces, and before he could stop himself, Sam lets out a resounding whoop while snapping a dozen photos of his boyfriend crossing the stage, retrieving his diploma and shaking hands of the faculty.

When Sam lowers the camera, he immediately wishes he didn’t. The entirety of Castiel’s family is now turned to stare at him and Sam feels nine pairs of razor-sharp eyes boring through the side of his skull. He thought that Castiel had the glare of death, but it must be genetic because _damn_ , his family has brought it to a whole new level, not to mention perfecting it to an art form.

Was it really that inappropriate? Other families cheered. Oh no, do they hate him? Shit, he fucked up. He fucked up right in front of Cas’ family and he technically hasn’t even met most of them yet.

Fuck.

He fiddles with the camera for the rest of the ceremony, looking through the pictures and inspecting every inch of them in order to avoid catching the attention of Castiel’s family members.

As the Chancellor makes his closing remarks, Sam’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he takes it out and places it on the seat next to his thigh to read it out of sight.

_[Cas: I’ll meet you at your apartment after this.]_

Sam stares down at the text, frowning a little at it while trying not to attract any unwanted attention from the nearby Novaks. They barely ever go to his apartment; they almost always spend their time together at Castiel’s apartment, which is much nicer and closer to campus.

_[Sam: See you there.]_

When the small orchestra settled beside the stage begins playing the Stanford song in a classical style at the end of the ceremony, Sam darts up the aisle and out of the stadium in record time, beating the crowd and more specifically, the Novak family. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he stayed around after his little embarrassing stunt during the ceremony. He doesn’t really want to meet Cas’ family personally without him.

Sam’s walk back to his apartment building is long—the closest apartment in his price range is seven blocks away. It’s in shitty condition and not worth the money he pays, but it was either the Garden Block Apartments or a rundown house shared by five fraternity brothers. The latter never sounded particularly appealing, especially since they would all be Kappa Sigs who are known to throw outrageous parties every other week.

The student and family exodus from the stadium and the resulting crowds and traffic aren’t helping his trek go any quicker. There are people everywhere, roaming about in groups and blocking the sidewalks with their pictures and unbearably slow walking. Sam internally groans as he remembers graduation day the past two years, but now he’s part of the crowd that every Stanford student hates.

Thankfully, the crowd thins out the further he gets from campus and there’s hardly any graduation gowns and strolling families to be seen when he reaches his apartment complex.

Sam climbs the rusting iron stairs that weave back and forth on the side of his apartment building, creaking under his weight. Sometimes, he feels like they’re going to give out and tear away from the brick, leaving anyone on them doomed to plummet to the ground too.

After safely scaling four floors of the outdoor staircase, Sam sees that Castiel is already there, leaning against the crumbling stucco wall of the outside hallway. His graduation gown is draped over his arm and his cap is still askew on his head as he stares out over the flat rooftops of the nearby buildings with a thoughtful expression.

Cas doesn’t smile back when Sam approaches but instead moves aside as Sam digs around for his keyring, jingling at the bottom of his bag underneath the camera and his wallet. It must be humid, judging with how much the lock is jamming and it takes several tries until the lock to turn and the door swings free.

Just as the door clicks shut behind them, there’s the soft fluttering sound of a graduation gown falling to the linoleum floor, dropped unceremoniously as Cas steps forwards into Sam’s space without uttering a word.

Castiel threads his fingers through Sam’s hair—it’s getting long, but Cas seems to like it—pulling him down a few inches until their lips meet. The kiss is notably shy and tender in nature, like Cas is kissing him with a much deeper meaning than just hungry for the action.

They pull apart, foreheads resting together as they breathe the same warm California air. After a beat, Sam speaks. “Con- _grad_ -ulations.”

Castiel huffs out a dry chuckle, headbutting Sam’s forehead lightly with his before rolling his eyes and trying to hide his smile. “Your puns are the worst.”

“Yeah, but you love them anyways.”

“Indeed, I do.”

After kicking off their shoes in the hallway, Cas follows Sam into the kitchen like a lost puppy. It’s quite a sight, really—a grown man with a university degree trailing behind Sam through his crumbling and broken apartment. It’s a rare occurrence that Castiel visits Sam at his place, stranger yet that he requested it himself. Both of them prefer Cas’ snazzy apartment over his own. It’s bigger, nicer, closer to campus, and not in danger of falling apart. Plus Castiel is most comfortable in his own space.

“So,” Sam begins, crossing the tiny room to the refrigerator, pulling out two cans of dollar store ginger ale from the top shelf. It’s all he can offer now that he’s paying for his own housing. “What brings you to Chateau Sam?”

“Hm?” Cas hums, snapping out of his daze. He takes the offered can, cracking it open with a hiss. “Oh. My family knows where I live.”

“Ah,” Sam replies, and he understands. Castiel needs an afternoon of escape, somewhere where a random family member can’t just drop by and abduct him for god knows what. “Getting on your nerves a little too much?”

“They’re… mentally exhausting,” Castiel says, choosing his words carefully. He takes a few gulps of his soda before yawning, causing a shudder to roll through his body. “I could go for a nap.”

“Be my guest,” Sam says, nodding and absently sipping his drink. He’s still exhausted from finals week and it feels like only a full week of sleeping will allow him to catch up and let his energy return. No doubt Castiel is equally as tired—having to take finals, give his honors thesis presentation and defense, rush around the city to appease different members of his family and graduate from college all in the same week.

“Care to join me?” Castiel asks over his shoulder in an alluring tone of voice, already making his way toward the studio’s living-room-slash-bedroom.

“Oh, uh, sure,” Sam replies, nodding as he sets his soda on the counter and following. “Yeah.”

The room is in total disarray and his bed isn’t made but Castiel doesn’t seem to care for any of it as he approaches the bed with hunger in his eyes. He doesn’t stop to undress but he loosens his red silk tie enough to slip it around his head, gingerly placing it on the nightstand before unbuttoning the top button of his white dress shirt and untucking it.

Sam follows suit while Cas flops forwards onto the sagging mattress, making a small groan of defeat before crawling across the sagging double mattress. He settles on top of the sheets on the left side, leaving Sam’s preferred side of the bed open and waiting. The thin padding and springs causes the mattress to bow down in the center so when Sam lays alongside him, they roll towards each other and collide in the center of the mattress.

However, uncomfortable springs and lumpy padding aside, it’s not completely a bad thing. Cas shifts forwards a few inches, closing the space between them and laying his cheek against Sam’s shoulder. As their hands find each other and their fingers lace together, Sam throws his other arm loosely over Cas’ waist to bring him close and tucks Cas’ head under his chin, fitting together like the last two pieces of a puzzle. Pretty damn perfect.

Like other countless lazy afternoons and nights they’ve spent together, he’s lulled to sleep by the rhythmic feeling of Castiel’s cool breath against his collarbone and the warm weight of him in his arms.

The next thing he knows is jolting awake to the crude shrill of Castiel’s iPhone, sounding off like an alarm during a World War II airstrike. Castiel stirs against his shoulder, grumbling while his hand fumbles around in his pants pockets for his phone.

“What’s that for?” Sam asks, drowsy from the rude wake up call and roughly gesturing towards the phone in Cas’ hand.

“Dinner,” Castiel replies in short, swiping a finger across the phone’s screen to disable the alarm before standing. He reaches his arms towards the ceiling, turning side to side as he stretches and flexes his arms, shoulders, and back.

“What?” Sam asks, tossing a skeptical look at his boyfriend as he props himself up on his elbows, squinting at the small digital clock on the nightstand. “At four-thirty?”

Castiel narrows his eyes and flashes Sam a look before rolling his eyes and turning for the front door. “I have to go home and get ready.”

“Oh, okay.”

“You should too.”

“Should what?”

“Get ready. You’re coming to Le Bouchon for dinner, right?” Castiel asks. A moment passes before a perplexed expression washes over his face. He frowns. “Did I forget to ask you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam says, wracking his memory but he’s pretty sure that the subject never came up in the past busy week. He doesn’t blame Cas for forgetting to ask—they’ve both been ridiculously busy for the past few weeks and he’s barely been able to keep his head straight in the meantime. “But I don’t wanna impose on your family’s thing.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing, Sam,” Castiel says, his voice steady and adamant even though there’s a small essence of pleading in his eyes. “Not at all.”

“Then,” Sam says, standing up from the bed. Meeting Castiel’s family? Probably better to do that now rather than never, even though the idea makes him a little nervous. “I’d love to go.”

“Wonderful, because you’re already on the reservation,” Castiel says, tugging Sam down by the collar for a quick peck on the lips. “That and... Michael’s paying.”

Sam laughs. “You sneaky bastard.”

Just after six, Sam spots Castiel’s white BMW pull up to the curb from his small window. He straightens his tie—the same one from the ceremony paired with a different shirt—one last time in front of his cracked bathroom mirror before rushing outside, grabbing his drawstring bag on the way. Cas insists that Sam drives to the restaurant because Le Bouchon is in San Jose, which is a good twenty-five minutes away, and that’s with little traffic.

Why Cas couldn’t have found a nice restaurant within Palo Alto’s limits, Sam will never know.

During the drive, Castiel sits in the passenger seat with his digital camera in his lap, clicking through the memory card full of photos from the course of the day.

“This one is good,” Castiel comments, lingering over one. Out of the corner of Sam’s eye, he sees a close up shot of Castiel shaking hands with the Chancellor while simultaneously receiving his diploma with his other hand. He clicks back through a few more photos, finding another of him walking across the stage. “And this one.”

Castiel chuckles, grinning down at the tiny screen as he stares at a photo.

“What?” Sam asks, struggling to keep his eyes on the road. Was there a bad photo? He hasn’t seen the photos Cas took with his family before the ceremony yet. Maybe there’s some gold in there.

“This is when you cheered.”

“Oh, you heard that?” Sam asks, blushing and embarrassed about the whole ordeal like he has been all afternoon.

“I’m fairly sure everyone in the stadium heard it.”

Sam’s heart drops. Shit. _Shit shit shit._ Why did he have to do that? “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Castiel smiles, blushing as he begins clicking through more of the photos. “I liked it.”

They arrive in San Jose a little after they expected. There was an accident taking up one of the lanes just past Santa Clara causing a delay, but thankfully they left with enough time. Castiel uses his iPhone’s app to guide them through the confusing city streets, complete with twisting unmarked one-way roads and pedestrian-only zones.

Le Bouchon has fucking valet parking and that’s indication number one that Sam is going to feel very uncomfortable at such an upscale and fancy restaurant. Eating out as a working student doesn’t happen that much, and even so, the restaurants he frequents with Cas are small cafes and diners. Cheap, quick, and casual… 

Nothing like this.

Two men dressed in burgundy waistcoats and black bow ties open the car doors for them with practiced synchronization and take the keys from Sam’s hand. And right there, that’s indication number two.

Damn, he’s so far out of his element but Castiel seems to fit into the high-class setting in his pale blue shirt and dark navy tie and an air of confidence, like he’s a regular customer. They’re led into the small unassuming building by another valet who holds the door for them.

The foyer of Le Bouchon is dimly lit—calling it “ambience lighting” feels inadequate, this is _dark_. Sam waits behind Castiel as he approaches the hostess podium where a beautiful brunette woman takes his information, confirms the reservation for the last time, and informs them that their private room will be ready in a few minutes.

“Castiel,” a lovely voice says from behind them. Both of them spin on their heels to see a familiar woman approach them with a wide smile on her face. She holds out her arms, a small black purse hanging from one elbow, and hugs Castiel, who is quick to reciprocate. “It’s so great to see you.”

“Anna,” Castiel returns the gesture as they part and that’s when Sam notices that they have the same smile. Yes, she’s definitely Castiel’s sister, the one and only. “And you as well.”

“Congratulations on your graduation. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you.”

Anna flashes him another dazzling white smile before turning to Sam. “Hello,” she greets him, looking him over carefully with critical hazel eyes. “I remember you from the ceremony.”

“Oh,” Sam starts, remembering to reach out his hand for a polite handshake. “Hello, my name is Sam Winchester and…” he pauses before hesitantly adding, “I’m Castiel’s boyfriend.”

She a grin lights up her face, completely ignoring his outstretched hand in favor of spreading her arms out before coming in quickly for a friendly hug, small arms wrapping up and around his shoulders. “I figured as much when you cheered for him.”

“Ah,” Sam says while bashfully rubbing at the back of his neck, not knowing how to explain himself. “Yeah...”

“Well,” Anna begins, turning back to her brother and raising an eyebrow to match the playful smirk that graces her bright red lips. “Might I just say, Castiel, you have great taste.”

“Anna,” Castiel warns half-heartedly. There’s a light pink shade spreading across his face as he blushes a little and man, if that isn’t one of Sam’s favorite things to see.

“Just an observation,” she jokes.

“Cassie,” an all-too-familiar voice calls out behind them. Balthazar—dressed even more casually than Sam with a black v-neck shirt, dark jeans, and a charcoal blazer but yet he still fits in better—strides across the foyer from the door, throwing his arms around Cas’ shoulders. A smile tugs at the side of his lips before he wraps his fingers around Balthazar’s wrists and pulls him off.

“Congrats, my dear,” Balthazar says, still leaning heavily on Cas with an arm wrapped around him. “That cap and gown suited you quite well this morning. It was about bloody time—”

“Excuse me,” the hostess interrupts, standing in the entranceway of between the foyer and the rest of the restaurant with a tall stack of leather-bound menus in her arms. “I can show you to your private room now, if you’ll follow me.”

In a line, the small group follows the hostess through the restaurant, weaving through loosely spaced tables of dining guests, until they reach a back room. Two waiters hold the ornately carved double doors open as they arrive, revealing a small private room.

It’s decently sized, but most of the space is taken up by a large rectangular table, stretching from one side of the room to the other. Eleven padded leather chairs line the edges, uneven and asymmetrical with four on one side, five on the other, and two chairs at the ends. It’s a little brighter than the rest of the restaurant, with its own wrought iron and crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and ambient lighting along the edges of the ceiling.

The group filters through, gathering just inside the room before the doors close ominously behind them, shutting out the low chatter of the main room. Castiel’s fingers wrap around Sam’s elbow, wordlessly guiding him around it to the other side before choosing a chair near the center of the table and Sam sits to his left.

The rest of the Novaks follow suit. Anna places herself to Castiel’s right, putting her purse down next to the fan-folded napkin to claim her spot. Balthazar chooses to sit beside Sam, which surprises him but he tries not to show it. The last thing he needs is for Balthazar to be on his case all night—which, to be fair, will probably happen anyways.

The double doors open again, and a short brown-haired man saunters into the room, white lollipop stick between his lips.

“Hey,” Gabriel greets with a smirk, faux saluting them with two fingers as he maneuvers around the table. “What’s up?”

“You’re late,” Balthazar chides as Gabriel takes a seat beside Anna, unfolding and dropping the napkin to his lap.

“I’m not even the last person here,” Gabriel retorts, gesturing to the half-empty table while rolling his eyes. “Seriously, where is everybody?”

“We were just a little early,” Anna assures him, rosy lips turning downward after she glances around the table. “Well, I guess everyone else is a little late…”

“Well, _I_ was on time.”

“It’s six forty-seven, you twat,” Balthazar chides, waving around the watch on his wrist.

“What, are you trying to scold me over two minutes?”

“Why yes, I am.”

“You fucker.”

“Language,” Anna reminds them, unfolding her napkin before dropping it to her lap. “This is a private room but it’s still not polite. Especially in front of our guest.”

The two relatives glare at each other from down the table but argue no more. Instead, Gabriel whips a sleek black phone out of the chest pocket of his purple silk shirt and starts rapidly typing on it while Balthazar turns and refocuses his attention on Sam.

“So, Sam,” he addresses him with a strange, almost regal tone of voice where Sam is his peasant. Suddenly, there are flashbacks to The Cinematic Society meetings and presidential introductions flashing through his mind. He can’t decide if the fact that Balthazar has barely changed is comforting or not. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, or at graduation for that matter.”

“Uh,” Sam says, furrowing his brow as he tries to decipher the meaning behind the doubtlessly condescending statement. “Why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Balthazar sighs, rolling his eyes as if he were talking to someone unbearably stupid. “I thought perhaps you two would have broken up by now.”

“Balthazar!” Anna hisses, punching him in the shoulder with a well-manicured hand.

“Ow!” Balthazar exclaims, flashing an angry glare at his cousin. “That was my arm, woman!”

“And it’ll be your face if you don’t keep your mouth shut,” Anna warns and Sam feels his fondness for her grow exponentially. So far, there’s at least one gold-hearted Novak relative but Sam hasn’t met the rest of the family members who are meant to take up the remaining chairs at the table.

Almost on cue, the doors swing open and the hostess leads two more people into the private room. Sam is able to recognize them from the ceremony and he can only assume they are one of the two sets of Castiel’s aunts and uncles attending the dinner.

They stride past the hostess together, arms linked and heads held high. There’s an imposing aura about them, one that comes from years upon years of having high amounts of confidence. The tall man’s suit matches the woman’s pant-suit perfectly, down to the very same black and white pinstripe fabric and English-style cut, both tailored to fit them both to the T. For a moment, Sam’s unsure if they’re celebrities or high-class business moguls. 

Hell, they’re probably both.

Castiel promptly stands up from his seat and moves around the table to greet them. “Aunt Raphael,” he says, addressing the woman and giving her an oddly formal handshake before turning to the man. “Uncle Uriel.”

From his seat, Sam watches in wonder, like he’s watching a documentary about some interesting cultural practices on the History Channel. Castiel is sternly shaking the hands of his aunt and uncle—not hugging, no warm smiles, nothing more than a brief hand-to-hand contact that business associates give each other after closing a deal.

“Castiel,” the woman, Raphael, replies curtly before turning towards the table. She and her husband take the chairs across from Gabriel and Anna, on the other side of the table from Sam. Like a synchronized routine, Uriel pulls the chair out for his wife before seating himself.

After unfolding their napkins and placing them on their laps, their gaze turns to Sam, the only real outlier at the table. He feels uncomfortable under their scrutinous stares but Sam makes himself look them right in the eyes.

Uriel takes a drink of water from his glass, studying Sam over the rim of the crystal. Deep brown eyes bore into him and Sam wonders if the fact that he’s staring back is a bad thing.

“You’re the boy from this morning,” he says as he sets down his water, voice deep and matter of fact. 

This is not a question.

“Yes,” Sam nods. “I’m—”

“Uncle Uriel, Aunt Raphael,” Castiel interrupts, addressing them in that formal tone that Sam just can’t seem to equate to family. He turns in his seat, slightly towards Sam, holding his hand out like he is giving a presentation in class. “May I introduce you to Sam Winchester, my friend.”

Sam’s head whips around to look wide-eyed at him. Cas said _‘friend,’_ and that choice of wording was _not_ a mistake.

His heart sinks a little, no doubt showing in the slight slump of his shoulders. But it doesn’t last long as he straightens back out again when the doors swing open again, letting in yet another small group of guests led in by the hostess, who looks a little overwhelmed by juggling having to constantly guide new people to the private room and seating other parties.

Another couple strides into the room, older than Uriel and Raphael by more than just a few years if Sam has any guess. Castiel is up out of his seat already and circling the table to greet them before Sam can even think about getting up to do the same.

The man Castiel—once again—shakes the hand of is only slightly taller than Uriel, but a little thicker. His hair already graying at the sides and he wears a black suit just as tailored as everyone else’s in the room, other than Sam’s of course. He smiles at Castiel when they shake hands, but it’s not as warm as Sam thought it might be, more like a quick grin with something dark hidden beneath.

“Uncle Zachariah,” Castiel says while shaking his hand before turning to the blonde woman, who wears a dark blue pencil skirt and a blazer over her blouse, to do the same. “Aunt Rachel, it’s nice to see you.”

“And you too, Castiel,” she replies graciously, shaking his hand with a short smile before shuffling past him to sit on the other side of the table, across from Balthazar and Sam. She barely notices Sam from across the table but Zachariah’s brow furrows and frowns deeply at the sight of him.

Castiel darts around the table again, pulling out his chair to sit in between Sam and Anna. He must notice Zachariah’s expression as he immediately opens his mouth to remedy the situation. “This is Sam Winchester, my friend.”

There it is again. That word. _Friend._ Sam’s not entirely sure why suddenly he’s only Castiel’s friend in front of certain family members, but he tries not to show his hurt this time. _‘Everything Cas does has an explanation,’_ Sam tries to remind himself. 

But it still sucks that it has to be something like this.

Hell, he shouldn’t even be hurt over something like this. Sam even did the same shit when Dean visited, putting off the whole reveal and discussion until last minute, right there in the bar. It turned out to be a disaster. Such rejection from that afternoon hurt Cas deeply, perhaps he’s trying to save them both from the trouble this time around…

The table is nearly full now, only the two chairs positioned at both ends of the table saved for none other than Castiel’s eldest brothers. Michael and Luke, if he can remember right. Cas’ family is pretty big, or at least much bigger than Sam’s modest surviving family.

The two sets of aunts and uncles eye each other from their side of the table, pointedly avoiding any conversation. Uriel keeps sipping from his ornate water glass, eyes turned upwards like he is deep in thought while Zachariah not-so-subtly shifts his chair a few inches away from Raphael, towards his wife who is rummaging through her small designer purse for something Sam has a feeling isn’t actually in there.

Sam figures if he was a psychology major, this dinner would be a lot more fun.

A few minutes slowly trudge by, filled with quiet murmuring between couples and the younger Novaks, separate conversations that purposely include no one else. Sam doesn’t know what to do with himself, his fingers nervously pick at the hemmed corners of the cream-colored napkin on his lap. Castiel doesn’t say anything either, glancing at his aunts and uncles across the table between staring at his empty plate. Sam can see the tension in his shoulders and how he tucks his hands together on his lap and how his toe taps nervously underneath the table, against the leg of Sam’s chair.

After a few more painfully long and awkward minutes, the double doors swing open and the hostess strides in once more, this time with two men in tow. The first into the room is a man wearing a crisp midnight navy suit, black hair neatly combed and gelled back and to the side.

“Michael,” Zachariah smiles, like the guest of honor has suddenly arrived. It’s more of a warm greeting than he said to Cas and it irks Sam. “It’s so wonderful to see you again today.”

“Ah,” Gabriel coos sarcastically, dropping his finished lollipop stick on the side of the decorative plate before him. “You guys share a cab or something?”

“Of course not.” Michael shoots him a peeved look before glancing sideways at the blond man who comes to stand beside him. “It was just a coincidence that we arrived at the same time.”

“Sure it was,” Gabriel snickers, already unwrapping another piece of candy. Chocolate, by the look of its fancy gold foil wrapper. Sam’s stomach growls a little. Probably should have eaten a little lunch.

“Hm,” Michael hums, crossing the room to sit at the head of the table closest to where Raphael and Uriel are seated. The couple looks considerably more settled now that the rest of the family is here. Sam watches as the other man— _‘Luke,’_ Sam’s mind provides as that’s the name of the only sibling that has yet to be introduced—doesn’t take his seat but rather strides right around the table, past his own chair, to stand just a little off to the left behind Sam’s chair.

“And you must be Sam,” he says, his name sounding almost like an accusation.

“Uh,” Sam begins, turning in his chair to see the man looming behind him with a very heavy presence. Practically all Sam has said tonight is his name, and now he’s been robbed of even that by this stranger.

The blond man holds his hand out, peering down at Sam as he quickly scrambles to get out of his chair to shake the man’s hand.

“The name’s Luke,” he flashes his pearly teeth and it’s one of the most frightening smiles Sam’s ever seen. A wolf. That’s what it makes Sam think of. A wolf and its prey. “But you can call me Lucifer.”

Yeah, the name doesn’t make Sam feel _any_ better.

The man—dressed impeccably in his black suit, black shirt and black tie—is even more ominous and striking than the rest of the Novak family. He emanates some sort of feeling of grandiose, mixed with commanding terror that demands respect and attention.

“He calls himself Lucifer to scare the competition,” Balthazar explains to Sam, rather quietly but not enough to spare the room from hearing.

“And it works,” Lucifer adds, sounding pleased with himself and his choice of stage name, finally seating himself down at the opposite end of the table. “I have quite the reputation for winning cases.”

“‘Ruthless’ and ‘heartless’ are not exactly the best adjectives to be publicly described with,” Michael counters, sitting up straight and staring down the long table at the younger brother.

“Your cases?” Sam asks, wondering if his inkling assumption is correct. The name Lucifer sounds familiar, other than the biblical reference, of course. But he’s not quite sure...

“He’s a lawyer, for Criminal Defense,” Michael informs him, looking directly at Sam.

“I can make my own introductions, brother,” Lucifer quips, eyes narrowed and glaring hard back at Michael. Sam can swear he feels electricity charging in the air—there’s something more to these brothers, like they absolutely love to hate each other. The blond sighs, distractedly swirling the water and ice in his glass like it was a fine wine before clearing his throat. “Sam, correct?”

He nods.

“As my _dear_ brother was so _kind_ to mention before, I’m a Criminal Defense lawyer in Los Angeles for Morning Star and Associates. You might have heard about—”

“That’s the firm that handled the People versus Bender case,” Sam says quickly, recalling the absolutely earth-shattering criminal trial that shook the nation early last year. The case itself was difficult and rather horrifying to keep up with in the media, but thankfully these lawyers made the case one of the most exciting things to happen in politics in years. His classes were constantly abuzz with watching the news and discussing the case. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere.”

“Yes.” Lucifer flashes him a satisfied smirk, lips splitting to reveal more white teeth. “I am quite a celebrity these days.”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Luke,” Uriel warns, shooting him a disappointed and disapproving look. “We must stay humble.”

“Nah,” Lucifer shrugs in defiance after seemingly considering Uriel’s ‘suggestion.’ Obviously, humility isn’t a large component of his personality. “I’d rather just flaunt it, at least until my next nation-wide case comes. Then I’ll go back to my dear old humble self—you know, play it up for the masses.”

Uriel hums, shaking his head in disapproval but giving up on the argument. Probably a smart move, from what Sam has seen.

The table goes silent for a moment, and it finally occurs to Sam that the attending Novak family is completely assembled, right here in this room. He sneaks a peek at the rest of the table, trying not to draw attention to himself. Two older couples, six younger adults of varying ages. If Sam had any guess, Lucifer and Michael would be around thirty, while all the other siblings and cousins are early to mid-twenties. What an interesting spread.

“So,” Michael begins, leaning forward in his chair and gazing around the table. “Our dear Castiel has finally graduated undergraduate university.”

Everyone is silent, but Michael continues. “It’s wonderful to see you all. As everyone knows, it’s very difficult for each of us to take time out of our busy schedules to make the trip to attend such events, and yes, not everyone is accounted for. Aunt Naomi could not attend due to her recent promotion. She’s a very busy woman but I assured her that she will be missed.”

Balthazar scoffs under his breath and Raphael rolls her eyes. Sam doesn’t know a damn thing about this woman, but he’s getting a strange vibe from a good portion of the table. He’s a little curious about it, but not enough to pry into the private life of Cas’ family. Maybe he’ll tell Sam later, on his own volition.

“However,” Michael begins again after a slight pause, giving a small nod of acknowledgement towards the center of the table. “It seems that we have a guest among us. Tell us, Castiel, who joins the dinner table tonight?”

The man speaks so formally that it makes Sam feel like it was a pre-written speech, but then it occurs to him that Michael is addressing Castiel, and more specifically, asking about Sam’s presence at the table. The aunts and uncles’ attention turns on him and he can feel the heavy stares from across the table.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam can see Castiel square his shoulders as he prepares to speak in the silence of the room before nearly his entire family.

“This is Sam Winchester,” Castiel gestures to Sam beside him like a class presentation, and for a moment he wonders if Cas will say _it_ , but he doesn’t have to wait on baited breath for long. “My friend.”

Sam holds back a deep sigh. They didn’t talk about this beforehand at all. Was Cas trying to hide their relationship? Was he ashamed of them? Would his family be upset? Then why invite him at all? The younger of the Novaks know about them and seem to be accepting… Sam eyes the older Novaks across the table as Michael speaks again.

“Sam,” he starts, speaking like he’s considering the name for a moment. Trying it out. “Tell us, Sam. Do you also attend Stanford?”

Folding his hands in his lap to ward off any fidgeting he knows he’ll do otherwise, Sam clears his throat quietly. “Yes, I’ll be a senior this year.”

Heads turn as Lucifer speaks. “And by that little display earlier, I would guess you’re a Political Science major. Am I correct?”

The man smirks slightly like he knows he’s right, and he is. Sam can only nod wordlessly. What is up with these mind-reading Novaks? It must be genetic.

“A perfectly respectable major, wouldn’t you say, Michael?” Lucifer says a little loud and proud, for all to hear.

The man’s lip twitches. “Of course,” his brother answers a bit forcefully through tight lips.

After that, Lucifer seems to take a genuine interest in Sam, guiding the conversation mainly by himself while Uriel and Michael decide on several bottles of wine for the table and order with the waitress.

“Do you have a minor?”

“English,” Sam replies.

The blond nods at him knowingly. “I was as well. You must be planning to attend law school.”

Once again, it isn’t a question. Yep, he and Cas are definitely related. “I’m hoping to get into Stanford Law next spring.”

“Are you from the area?”

“Out of state,” Sam answers automatically before correcting himself. He forgets that Cas’ family is native to the state either. “Kansas, originally.”

There’s a low murmur across the table. Raphael is leaning in close to Uriel, whispering something to him as he shakes his head. Sam can’t help but to think they’re talking about him. He can feel his fingers begin to twitch against the napkin in his lap.

“Ah, the midwest,” Lucifer sighs as if he were recalling a fond memory. “What brings you all the way to California?”

“School, mostly.” There’s no other real reason, Sam surmises. Stanford offered the most scholarship money and the most opportunity, and that was that. But he isn’t about to explain it, they don’t need to know.

“What do you enjoy doing in your spare time?” Rachel asks, gracefully entering the conversation. She speaks sternly but without any strange underlying snark or condescension and Sam’s not sure what to make of her just yet. It all feels almost surreal, like an interview comprised of solely small talk by the Novak family. Castiel sits silently at his side, repeatedly rolling and unrolling the edges of his napkin in his hands on his lap.

“I don’t have a lot of free time,” Sam explains, scratching the back of his neck. He really doesn’t have much time to do anything, but a majority of it is spent with Cas. He struggles for a moment to word it in a way that doesn’t imply anything suspicious to keep up the act that Castiel seems to have established. “But outside of school and my job, I guess I like to relax and.... watch movies.”

“Oh?” Michael asks, handing the wine list back to the waitress as he re-joins the discussion. Meanwhile, two other waiters have come into the room to distribute dinner menus. “Your job? What is it that you do?”

“I work part time at a restaurant in Palo Alto,” he says after quietly thanking the waiter for the menu. “Generally as part of the waitstaff.”

“Hmph,” Zachariah scoffs quietly, not looking up from the leather menu before him. There’s just something about him that makes Sam want to punch him right in the face, but that wouldn’t be a nice—or _smart_ —thing to do.

“Ugh, a _waiter_ ,” the man says under his breath but the room is quiet enough for Sam to hear it.

All of Sam’s notions of being nice to Zachariah are thrown out the window, but he has to be civil in this situation. If only for Cas’ sake. But it occurs to him that Sam is probably the least successful and accomplished person in the room—surrounded by possible business moguls and politicians and nationally-known lawyers, and it makes him feel pretty inadequate.

Though, judging by Zachariah’s facial expression and the disdain shown, that’s exactly how he intended to make Sam feel.

“Small steps to big things,” Lucifer reminds Zachariah and the table and Sam considers it a small mercy.

“Perhaps so, but not everyone has such humble beginnings,” Michael returns pointedly. “I seem to recall that you never had a job before your paid internship, and then went straight into creating your own firm.”

Lucifer's lip twitches but the man says nothing more, resigning himself from the argument.

Seeming a little self-satisfied at this triumph, Michael continues. “On the topic of careers, I believe Uriel is participating in an upcoming election. How is your campaign thus far?”

The man across the table sits up straight, folding his menu and placing it on the table, off to the side of his place setting. Sam busies himself by looking at the menu, glancing through the hellishly expensive options for the three course meal. He’d have to save up for quite a while before he’d be able to afford a dinner here. He still listens, wishing to learn more about Cas' family while attempting to stay as far out of the conversation as possible.

“It is going well. My staff is efficient and we are on schedule for the elections in August,” he announces with the precise language of a true politician. Sam's head perks up a little, listening a little more intently to the conversation and wondering how the fact that members of Castiel's family are pretty much famous for something has escaped his attention for so long.

Well, it's not like he did a Google search on the family name. That would be pretty creepy.

“The most recent polls put me ahead of my opponent, his twenty-two percent to my fifty-three percent approval ratings.”

“That is wonderful to hear, Uriel,” Michael says, giving an acknowledging nod in his direction. “We may be looking at a new house representative for the state of Virginia this fall.”

“Our hard work over the years and the Lord’s blessing will help assure our victory,” Raphael adds, placing her hand over Uriel's on the table for a brief moment before withdrawing it back to her lap, no warmth in the gesture at all. “I believe that by the end of August of this year, Uriel will be a representative.”

Zachariah rolls his eyes and the stifled snort doesn't go unheard. Uriel leans forward, sharply glaring at the other uncle with disdain.

“We have been working very hard to uphold a certain public appearance and would appreciate it if some _family members_ were to act accordingly as to not _sabotage_ our efforts,” Raphael continues, emphasizing certain words like daggers. She’s a fearsome woman indeed, armed with sharp words and the precise language of someone who works within the political realm.

Uriel, in turn, turns in his chair to stare at Zachariah and Rachel, the tension in the air could be cut with a steak knife.

Sam blinks at the outright display, keeping his head down and trying not to draw attention to himself. The older half of the Novak family are so openly at odds with each other, they don't even try to hide it. He briefly wonders if it was like this when Castiel was growing up—a constantly bickering family would drive him up the wall.

“Speaking of blossoming careers,” Lucifer begins a little sarcastically before returning to a normal tone of voice, “Anna just began her new position as immigration attorney in Houston.”

It just occurs to Sam that none of the younger Novaks have said a word since they all sat down. He quickly glances to the right, seeing that Balthazar is flipping the knife beside his plate from side to side with an expression of the purest form of boredom Sam has ever seen. Glancing to the left, he sees that Castiel's eyes are trained on Anna and Gabriel is doing his best to text on his phone in his lap under the table.

Anna nods, drawing her glass of wine away from her lips. “In January.”

“In January,” Michael echos, slightly tipping his head in her direction. “Has the experience thus far been go—?”

“How has the firm been treating you?” Lucifer asks with a rather dramatic display of interest in comparison to how the conversation was originally going, probably purposely interrupting his brother in the process.

“Ah,” Anna begins a little cheerfully and it's the first real smile that Sam has seen since the dinner started. “It's actually pretty—“

“Because you know that if you find that you don't like the area or your partners, you are of course, always welcome to my firm in Los Angeles. I think you'd do well ther—“

“I don't think that will be necessi—“

“Lucifer,” Michael chides a little loudly and down the table, Lucifer snaps his mouth closed. “Let Anna speak. If she is happy, then she is happy. You should leave the issue be.”

“Well,” Lucifer says while crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “The offer is always available. Anna would be more than welcome.”

Anna does her best to hide the discomfort she has for the situation and it's finally clear to Sam that this is not the first time that Lucifer has asked her to join him at his firm. “Thank you.”

When the doors to the room swing open and a pair of matching waiters come through, there's a dull thump of something small and heavy hitting the carpet and when Sam looks over, Gabriel is leaning to pick his phone off the ground. For a moment, he looks a little embarrassed but he tries to play it off cool but ultimately fails.

“On the phone at the table?” Raphael says, giving Gabriel a look as he returns upright and stashes his phone in the pocket of his pants. “How rude.”

“I’m sorry,” Gabriel mumbles like a scolded child and it’s really nothing like Sam has ever seen before. The two waiters begin taking dinner orders starting with the two heads-of-table, Michael and Lucifer. Uriel gives Gabriel a stone-cold stare from across the table before he turns to the waiter and orders.

“Then, Gabriel,” Lucifer says, steepling his hands before him on the table and gazing down the long table to his younger brother. “If you are so inclined to talk to other people other than your family while at dinner with them, you must have made some very good friends while traveling.”

Clearing his throat, Gabriel sits forward lazily, placing an elbow on the table and setting his cheek in his hand. “I made some friends, yeah.”

“Oh?” Michael hums. “Anyone to name in particular?”

“Uh, not really,” Gabriel says. Sam would bet top dollar that the entire table knows what he’s saying is bullshit—making friends was Gabriel’s thing, that’s what he was good at, but no one seems interested in calling him on it.

“And what is it that you’ve been doing again?” Zachariah asks. 

“Traveling,” Gabriel answers plainly, not elaborating. Sam glances at Castiel, perplexed by the conversation. Wouldn’t this be common knowledge to the family? Just how out of touch are they?

“Traveling for what?” Raphael asks after placing her dinner order with the burgundy-vested waiter.

“Experience,” comes Gabriel’s clipped answer, with a slight roll of his eyes.

“Work experience?” Rachel asks, eyebrows raised. “Connections?”

“No,” he shakes his head with an uncomfortable forced smile. Sam can almost feel the annoyance Gabriel feels by this conversation. “For fun.”

“ _Fun?_ ” Zachariah chimes, as if the word was offensive. “You graduate and put off finding a job in your career area and travel the world for _fun_?”

For the first time of the evening, Uriel seems to be in agreement with the other Novak uncle. “Your family works hard for you to attend college and provide you with the best and you treat us this way?”

“I’m paying for everything—” Gabriel starts, trying to get a word in.

“But the longer you wait after graduating, the harder it will be to get hired,” Raphael remarked, disapproving vibes emanating through her tone. “What if you never get hired?”

“People will look at your resume and history and see you as unreliable,” Uriel says, agreeing with his wife and giving a nod in her direction. “Irresponsible, even.”

“I travel to a dozen countries using my own money and you’re trying to call me irresponsible?” Gabriel protests, fingers clutching his phone in his lap.

“I would have to partially agree with our dear aunt and uncles,” Michael adds and all eyes turn to him. Sam believes it’s a rather telling fact that no other relative tries to speak over him. “Gabriel, I believe it is time for you to think about settling down.”

Gabriel frowns indignantly and opens his mouth to most likely say something snarky back, but Lucifer does so first.

“Brother, let him have his fun,” the blond lawyer says cooly. “I do recall a certain someone who took a few months after his own graduation to decide if he wanted to take over the family enterprise or if he wanted to start his own.”

“Now now,” Michael starts, shaking his head and watching his brother intently from down the long table. “Luke—”

“Don’t you, Uncle Zachariah?” Lucifer continues, ignoring his brother and turning to one of his uncle. “Do you remember—”

“ _Luke_ ,” Michael warns, voice stern to match his glare. “That will not be necessary.”

Lucifer shrugs innocently, putting his hands up with no offense. “I was only pointing out the hypocrisy. God knows that this family is made of it.”

“Michael had his reasons,” Uriel scolds defensively, speaking loudly enough for the table to hear some semblance of authority in his tone. “You, if I recall correctly, were the son who wished to defy anything this family had to say.”

“And I believe I’m a better man for it.”

“Are you implying that Michael is not a good man?” Raphael snaps, eyes lit up with fire as she glowers at him. “Or that he is not an upstanding man for following family traditions?”

“Maybe _too_ upstanding,” Lucifer murmurs.

Sam sits and stares at the menu in his lap, not thinking at all about what he might order. He’s absolutely bewildered listening to the banter and bickering of Castiel’s family. If he didn’t know it already, he would have sworn that not one of these people were related by the way the acted. It’s astounding how these people could come together for supposedly happy celebration like Castiel’s undergraduate graduation and yet they all sit around this table, stabbing each other with mean words and sharp, disapproving glares.

As the older Novaks go back and forth rapidly, Sam takes the chance to glance again at Castiel. His boyfriend sits beside him solemnly, staring down at his menu, most likely in order to avoid being dragged into the hellish conversation. The downward curve of his frown sets lines in his face that make him seem years older than his early twenties. His pale knuckles gripping the menu in his hands don’t go unnoticed either. 

Cas has never been one for any sort of conflict in his life—and right now, Sam can imagine that there’s a twisting deep inside his boyfriend, upsetting him despite not showing a hint of it.

He momentarily looks past Castiel at Gabriel, who slouches in his chair and furiously texts on his phone completely unapologetically, completely resigned from the conversation and probably from the dinner entirely. For the first time since he’s known him, Sam actually feels bad for the guy. For a good while, Sam considered Gabriel as the ‘crazy relative’ of Castiel, but now he looks tame. Completely normal and perfectly sane.

Sam puts in his order with the waiter designated to his side of the table, glancing at the menu one last time and ordering the item at the top, which just so happens to be something with lobster. He’s never had it before but he’s not picky, so it’ll probably be good. If anything, it’s better than ramen noodles or peanut butter and banana sandwiches that he’s been living off of for almost a year.

“Speaking of careers and settling down,” Michael begins, drawing everyone’s attentions now that no one can hide behind their menus. “Now that you are a graduate, Castiel, what are your plans for the future?”

The entirety of the table turns to look expectantly at Castiel, and a nervous feeling suddenly floods over Sam. That’s a terrible question to ask a college student or recent graduate. It evokes terror even in people who know what they’re doing with their lives, which, to be fair, is very rare. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam sees his boyfriend take a deep breath.

“I was considering looking for a job in the television industry in the upcoming weeks.”

This is a perfectly acceptable answer and any reasonable adult would just say ‘that sounds great’ or even ‘oh, good luck!’

But of course, Castiel’s family are anything but reasonable.

“Do you really think that will sustain you?” Raphael asks incredulously.

Uriel nods his head in agreement with his wife. “Yes, there are far better careers you should consider, outside of your… interests.”

“Such jobs are few and far between,” Zachariah notes, steepling his fingers. “I fear that you will end up on the streets one day because of your poor choice of degree.”

And for once in the short hour Sam’s known them, both sides of the Novak family are in agreement about something. Which should be a miracle if it weren't about dismissing Cas’ choices.

Sam glances to the ends of the table, where both Michael and Lucifer stay quiet and pointedly removed from the conversation. The sight makes Sam’s blood boil. The two were so quick to defend Anna and Gabriel’s life choices from critique, but now they’re silent on this issue? At the dinner of the night of Castiel’s graduation? They’re supposed to be celebrating, not shaming him for choosing to study something he loves.

“Why couldn’t you follow in your father’s footsteps?” Raphael deplores. 

“I’m gonna need a shitload more wine for this,” Gabriel murmurs under his breath somewhere down the table. Sam silently agrees with the sentiment, but getting drunk or even remotely tipsy is probably not the best thing to do in this escalating situation.

“He was the perfect business man,” she continues woefully in remembrance of Castiel’s late father. “Surely your brother Michael could have gotten you a decent position at the family brokerage firm.”

“Or in your mother’s,” Zachariah rudely interjects, speaking over his sister-in-law. “You would have made a passable lawyer, if you could make it through law school.”

Castiel furrows his brows and purses his lips at the pseudo-complement but says nothing. Sam can see his hands shaking in his lap, but he can’t tell if it’s from anger or upset. He can’t even believe his own ears. Never would he have expected Cas’ family to be like this, to be so cruel to one of their own. Sam finds himself shaking as well, most definitely out of anger. What kind of family is this? He might not have the best family himself, composed of one brother and dead parents, but this is despicable and Castiel doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve any of the shit he’s getting.

And it makes him furious.

“One of these days,” Zachariah continues, “you’ll wake up to realize that your pointless degree has gotten you nowhere and how much of your life has been wasted and worthless—”

“Enough!” Sam shouts as he jumps to his feet, unable to contain himself. The family immediately silences, all eyes turning to Sam. The weight of all the scrutinizing attention begins to claw at him but Sam tries to shake it off. “You guys are unbelievable! Castiel graduated from _Stanford_ today. We’re supposed to be _celebrating_ , not berating him for choosing something that he’s passionate about!”

Castiel comes to stand on his feet, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. He feels his gaze bore through the side of his head but he just can’t stop now that he began his tirade. “Sam…”

“Family is supposed to be supportive and nice to each other and you all have been nothing but.”

 _‘Shut up, Sam,’_ his mind warns him. _‘You’ve already done enough damage.’_

In his pause, Sam’s eyes dart around the table. The aunts and uncles look completely scandalized, Anna looks shocked, Lucifer looks well-entertained, and Michael’s face is unreadable.

_‘Ah, fuck it. The damage is done.’_

“You can call me names, you can denounce my job, you can say whatever the hell you want about me, but you can’t call Castiel _worthless_.”

The table is silent in awe until Rachel finds her words again, speaking quietly but with suspicion. “Sam... just who are you to Castiel?”

The question blindsides him. “I’m— I’m… I, uh…” he stutters. He can’t, he shouldn’t… he can’t out his boyfriend to his family. He can’t be that asshole. Sam feels Castiel’s fingers trace around his wrist before intermingling with his own. Sam’s about to open his mouth to say ‘his friend’—

—just as Castiel’s lips crash into his own.

Sam is completely stunned, frozen in place and wide-eyed. There are some gasps from around the table but he can’t bring himself to care who they belong to. In fact, he’s pretty sure time has stopped completely and maybe he’s been warped to some strange alternate universe like in “The Twilight Zone.”

“This is unacceptable!” Zachariah shouts, throwing his hands up in rage.

“A gay nephew? My ratings will certainly drop if the press finds out,” Uriel laments. “The election…”

“What have you done?” Raphael agrees, completely aghast.

When Castiel pulls away, he turns to address the table. He takes a deep, steadying breath and firmly holds his hand. “Sam is my friend… and my boyfriend,” he says, voicing it so that is clear and undeniable to his family. “And I don’t feel we’re welcome here anymore.”

And with that, he pulls a completely bewildered Sam by the hand out of the room. 

“Well, then,” they hear Lucifer say as they leave, enthusiastically clapping his hands together. “That was quite the display! Bravo.”

“Luke, shut _up_.”

Their exit through the restaurant is a complete blur to him and Sam doesn’t snap to it until the valet presses the BMW’s keys into his palm. He’s on total autopilot when he slides into the driver’s seat and drives them away.

As Sam drives them back to Palo Alto, Castiel doesn’t speak a word or even make a noise but is no doubt doing the same thing he is: trying to process what the fuck just happened.

Though the sun has set and the sky is darkening, Sam can still tell that his boyfriend is shaking as he stares at the passing scenery through the window. He tries to decipher the look on Cas’ face but he’s still good at guarding himself and his feelings when he wants to. Sam’s not exactly sure how he feels about what just happened, nor does he know what it means for Castiel.

“Well,” Sam begins, cutting through the stifling silence in the car. He struggles to find something to break the tension. “There goes my chance at trying lobster, huh?”

It doesn’t get a rise out of Cas, not even a crack of a smile. Sam turns his attention back to the road, speeding down Highway 101 just above the limit. Only a few unbearably long moments later does his boyfriend speak.

“I assure you Balthazar and Gabriel will flip a coin to see who gets your lobster tail. Though, most likely, Anna will trump them both.”

The response, no matter how dry the delivery, assures Sam that Cas is still there, still himself, still willing to talk. Sam feels a little more at ease for the rest of the drive home but he knows there’s something changed, something they need to address.

When they pull into spot labeled ‘202’ in the parking garage, Castiel’s hand settles over Sam’s on the gearshift. “I think we need to talk about today.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sam lets out a shaky but relieved breath, unable to draw his gaze away from where their hands touch. “But how about we go upstairs first?”

Once inside his apartment, Castiel immediately disappears into the bathroom, the door clicking closed behind him. Sam stands in the center of the living room, not knowing what to do with himself until Castiel reemerges in pajama pants and one of Sam’s hoodies—the one that he swore lost weeks ago. When Cas looks at him expectantly, Sam gets the message that he’s staying the night and goes to retrieve his spare shirt and sweats, stashed in the bottom drawer of Castiel’s armoire.

After he’s out of the scratchy suit and tie, Castiel quietly leads them out to the couch, where the settle on opposite ends of the couch as Sam wants to ensure that there’s enough space in case Cas needs it. Tucking his knees underneath him, Castiel peers across the couch cushions to Sam. Just over the quiet hum of the air conditioning system blowing refreshing cool air through the vents, there’s only the sound of their breathing in the apartment. 

Still, the sound is deafening.

“Sam—”

“Listen, Cas, don’t think you have to say anything—”

“I want to—”

“What happened today, it was my fault—”

“No, it wasn’t!” Castiel shouts, snapping his mouth closed after realizing the volume of his own voice. “No, it wasn’t,” he repeats, looking away as he steadies himself. “It’s just… it’s been a long time coming.”

Obviously Castiel has a lot more to say than he imagined. With a nod, Sam silently urges him to continue.

“I’ve never actually come out to anyone in my family before, at least before tonight,” Castiel begins, blue eyes darting up to Sam’s face with hesitation before returning to stare at the couch cushion. “Anna knows I’m… asexual because she was the one who introduced the term to me. She found a label that made me feel a little less broken and alone. Gabriel found out because he has rather mysterious ways of uncovering secrets, and I’m pretty sure Balthazar doesn’t know but he doesn’t really care for labels in general.”

Sam watches patiently as his boyfriend begins to fidget, nervously picking at a loose thread at the edge of throw blanket draped over the back of the couch. He can sense that this is a very difficult topic for Castiel to talk about so he makes sure that he lends his best listening ear.

“Other than those three, I’m fairly sure my family had no idea I am asexual and dating someone of the same gender. I don’t doubt that they must believe I’m homosexual. My family’s roots are deep in religion so in their eyes, I have sinned and disgraced them. Not only for loving a man but also keeping it from them.”

 _‘We aren’t a sin,’_ Sam wants to say, but he knows it isn’t his turn to speak.

“I’ll be honest with you,” he continues, still pulling at the edge of the blanket with short fingernails, completely absorbed in it. “I had no plans on coming out to my family at any point in the future. I hoped that perhaps this night would go by smoothly and we would say goodbye to my family and I would not have to see them again until the next wedding or funeral.”

Castiel sighs. 

“In short, I planned on introducing you as a close friend because it would please them that I am socializing, but it never occurred to me that things would end up this way. It was cruel—I was cruel, very cruel to you. I didn’t tell you, I didn’t ask for your permission. I really should have and I’m sorry.”

When Sam sees the wetness gathering at the corner of Cas’ eyes, he feels his heart immediately weaken. He has to fight the urge to just hug the sad out of his boyfriend. “Cas—”

“Please let me finish,” Castiel says, raising a hand between them. He then uses that hand to dry the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Suddenly a feeling of protectiveness surges within Sam’s soul. He wants desperately to wipe it all away, make him forget or at least distract him. “I’ve always tried to be a good son, I’ve tried so hard to get their approval for all of my life. When I chose my major, it was one of two times I made a decision for myself.”

Castiel’s eyes dart from the unraveling edge of the blanket to Sam and back. Though he is usually a pillar of stubborn strength and dry remorselessness, he sounds so unbelievably guilty. 

“I know that I’ve disappointed my family, but I like to think that you—well, _we_ —are much more important than that. I always thought that maybe I’d find a nice girl and no one would have to know, that my family would be happy and I could live in peace. But then I found you, and I tossed that delusion away because nothing and no one on this earth is better than you are.”

Biting his lip, Sam tries not to interrupt to return the sentiment. At least they’re on the same page in this respect.

“Perhaps,” Castiel says, “if I had been a little more brave and told the truth right away, things would have turned out differently. I hurt you and I fucked up and I hope that you might forgive me…?”

Sam’s head perks up at the sound of a curse word spilling from Cas’ lips. He holds back the smile that usually accompanies such a rare occasion. 

“I agree you should have told me,” Sam starts, treading carefully. There’s a million things he could say at this moment, but he tries to filter out the ones that could produce disastrous results. He wants to be honest but gentle. “But I would never take back what I said. God, Cas, they were _terrible_ to you tonight. Family or not, I can’t just let that slide and neither should you.”

“And I’m thankful for that,” Castiel says, quick to assure him. “You stood up for me at a time that I wouldn’t have, and you gave me strength to do it myself.”

“And I’d do it again if I had to,” Sam declares, curling his arm around Castiel’s shoulder to bring them closer. The purposeful space between them feels too wide now that they’re talking through things. His boyfriend wiggles closer, closing the last few inches of the gap and fitting them together snugly.

“I know I shouldn’t care about what they think of my choices, but I can’t help but to feel guilty,” he murmurs into the collar of Sam’s shirt.

“No matter how close or distant you are from them,” Sam says, closing his eyes and thinking of his own brother and upbringing, “it always hurts to feel like you’ve disappointed family.”

Castiel nods, gently applying pressure to Sam’s chest until they lay back, stretched out and huddled together on the couch. Sam tosses his other arm around his boyfriend and runs a soothing hand in small circles on his back. The man seems so distressed and upset about the whole situation. Arguably, Sam is upset too, but not only did Castiel’s life passion get criticized and demeaned today but he also unexpectedly _came out_ to his deeply religious family, so Sam doesn’t feel like he has a right to be nearly as upset.

He can’t help but to think of the Novak family, cursing their existence and their actions tonight. They can all just fuck off and go to hell—well, except Anna. She seems genuinely kind and evidently supportive. Even Gabriel and Balthazar, as dickish they can be sometimes. But none of the three spoke up while the rest degraded Castiel before their very eyes, and that’s pretty damnable in Sam’s mind. He and Dean have their own set of issues they have to deal with, or ignore, but that’s nothing in comparison to what he’s witnessed tonight.

“I’m so sorry,” Castiel says, obviously still overthinking the events of the entire day.

“Cas...” 

“I still stand by what I said. I fucked up and I regret it. Is there anything I can do to make amends?”

Sam knows he can’t really ask anything of Castiel—to apologize for something that didn’t really cause any true harm, or to do something he’s not ready for. He’s hurt by what happened at dinner and how it damaged their trust and communication, but perhaps that is what Sam really wants the most right now.

“Just...” Sam begins, “I don’t know, _warn_ me about stuff like that next time. If something is bothering you and stressing you out like that, tell me. I’m your boyfriend and I love you, but I can’t help you through anything if I don’t know how you’re feeling or what you’re doing.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Castiel agrees with a curt nod. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

“It’s okay, but let’s just not do that again.”

“Well, everyone flies home tomorrow so I expect it’ll be a long while until we have to see them again. If we ever see them again. I’m not quite sure if they’ll want to after tonight…” Castiel trails off, doleful blue eyes on the back of the couch over Sam’s shoulder. He takes a steady breath and Sam can feel the depth to it. “I’m not sure I really want to see them again…”

“Oh?” Sam asks. He’s not really sure what to stay. That’s a pretty big statement.

Castiel traces a finger across the soft cotton fabric of Sam’s pajama shirt. “I don’t think they’ll ever approve of me now. I didn’t choose the majors they wanted and I’m not living the life they envisioned for me. I’ll always be that disappointing person at family gatherings.”

“I wouldn’t say that…”

“If they’re not willing to accept my career choice nor the man I love, then I don’t think I want to be near them.”

“Maybe one day they’ll come to their senses,” Sam suggests. Though he’s argued with Dean a lot in his life, he still couldn’t imagine life without him. At least Dean came around to the idea of Castiel and that’s no longer an issue between them anymore, but Sam’s not sure if such a religious and strict family like the Novaks would do that in their case.

“We can only hope.”

They lay there peacefully for about fifteen minutes but Sam’s mind has been restless with thought. Castiel is nearly asleep when he asks. “What was the other thing?”

“Hmph?” Cas hums, lifting his head up and cracking open an eye.

“The other decision you made for yourself?”

His boyfriend closes his eye again, lips pulling up at the corners. “You.”

At some point in the late evening, they drift off into sleep together, completely lost to the conscious world. Castiel nudges him awake just after one in the morning, pulling him off the couch and into his room. Sam’s more than thankful to slide into the familiar sheets, into a bed that’s much more comfortable than his own. It takes only a minute to fall back asleep again, but the last thing Sam remembers is a hand snaking under the duvet and cool fingers curling into his own. And how it feels like _home._

In the early morning, Sam wakes up to birds chirping and warm sunlight streaming through the blackout shades they didn’t close the night before. Though school is out for the summer and he is still recovering from a hellish bout of final exams, he’s glad that the sun woke him up early. He’s had this list of errands and chores to do building up for the past two weeks—returning those library books, cleaning out his fridge, and he doesn’t even want to imagine his dirty laundry pile building back at his own apartment—and now he’ll actually have the time to do them.

Figures... in the first moment of peace he has to himself in months, he’s thinking about chores.

He’s not awake for long until he feels a shifting across the mattress, the faint sound of the down duvet shifting as Castiel slowly stirs. A dark shock of hair emerges from underneath the blanket, followed by some tan skin and finally bright blue eyes that blink open and focus in on Sam. The man curls on his side to face him, pulling the covers with him in a roll. 

His hair is impossibly messy and sticking up on the left side. Without saying a word, Sam reaches out and tries to smooth it out a little. Castiel’s eyes flutter shut when fingers brush across his scalp. Sam ultimately frowns when he figures that the idea of taming his boyfriend’s infamous bed-head is completely fruitless.

Castiel finally speaks, voice still rough from the night. He clears his throat. “Good morning.”

“G‘morning.” Sam returns, reverently tracing his fingertips along the strong line of Castiel’s jaw. The previous night was a little draining for the both of them but even more so for Cas. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” he replies honestly, kissing the palm of Sam’s hand before pressing his cheek into it. “Things always seem better when I get to wake up with you.”

The statement is blunt but genuine. Leave it to Castiel to still be able to make him blush like a crushing thirteen year old boy. Sam can’t help but to fondly smile. “Really?” he jokes. “You sure?”

“Yes,” he confirms, Sam’s jesting tone going over his head as per usual. “In fact, I would love it if we could do this every day. To have you nearby all the time.”

It takes a moment for what Castiel said to sink in. It’s not a joke, it’s not just a simple comment. It’s an _invitation._ Mouth dropping open, Sam blinks. Again. And again. And again. “Cas, what are you saying—?”

“Sam,” Castiel says after clearing his throat, blue eyes searching Sam’s face before carefully continuing. “Would you… move in with me?”

He doesn’t even have to consider the question. Doesn’t think about it, doesn’t question it. The answer is automatic and it comes from the heart.

“Yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

Over the course of his shift later that day, Sam thinks about Castiel’s question—and in turn, his answer. He was so eager to accept such a proposal, especially without putting any thought into it before agreeing. Now, as he strides through the restaurant with arms full of plates, Sam’s mind is elsewhere, thinking about the events of the morning as he does his job on autopilot. 

Which doesn’t work too well as he mixes up a few orders and it’s probably reflected in his tips.

Living together is a huge step in their relationship, but it isn’t an illogical one. Ever since they started dating, they’ve comfortably slipped into this cohabitation habit, spending most of their time together during the day and the more-than-occasional night. Sam feels right at home in the same space as Castiel. 

On the other hand, he also knows that sometimes Castiel needs his own space as well.

There’s a nagging voice in the back of his mind that reminds him that sometimes couples fight and even break up due to issues that arise from living together. What if he and Cas aren’t compatible when it comes to actually living together? The more Sam is not occupied with speaking with customers, the more these questions plague him.

But are all of these questions making Sam reconsider his answer? Of course not. It’s something he wants, to be closer and to take another step. He won’t talk himself out of it. They’ll try it and Sam vows to do his hardest to make it work, no matter what happens.

Still… they probably should have talked about it a little more before parting ways for the day. Where would they live? Castiel’s apartment? Sam’s pretty sure even if he worked full-time at Ellen’s, he still probably couldn’t afford half of the month’s rent in an upscale apartment building like that. They’d have to move out and find a place they can both afford together.

What kind of place would it be? Probably another apartment, Sam supposes. There’s no shortage of those in a campus town and Castiel probably wouldn’t settle for sharing a house with others. In fact, Sam would also prefer a place just to themselves, for privacy and peace.

On his way back from the restaurant, Sam stops at the grocery store for a few things but ends up walking out with several newspapers and those local housing listing booklets. On the bus, he skims through a few of them, folding down the corners of pages that have apartments and not houses. They’d have to pool their ideas together to figure out what exactly was in their price range, among other specifications they’d want their new place to meet.

Surprisingly, Castiel is sitting at the kitchen table with a leg tucked up underneath him, his black socked foot peeking through the back of the chair. He gives Sam a quiet nod as he comes in to throw his bag of non-perishables on the counter before sitting across the table from him.

The lines of Castiel’s face glow from the light from his laptop’s screen and beside him lies a stack of newspapers—a few opened and folded to expose certain pages. Sam’s brows raise when he notices that the pages are littered with small square images of empty rooms with prices and descriptions. It makes his heart skip that Castiel is looking for places already.

“Looks like we’re both kind of excited for this, huh?”

Castiel looks embarrassed but nods.

“But I was thinking earlier… we should probably talk a bit about this first.”

Blue eyes watch him carefully. It occurs to Sam that Castiel might be already jumping to bad conclusions. He better cut off any misunderstandings right away.

“Like about where and when and how much, you know?” 

Castiel does look a little relieved when he explains further. While Sam explains his thoughts and ideas, his boyfriend sits patiently, listening as he peers over the top of his computer. Thankfully they agree on a budget rather quickly, one that is reasonable for the both of them and is to be split down the middle. When Castiel offers to pay more than his share, Sam quickly shuts him down.

“We’re equals, and our new place should be equally ours.”

“That is fair,” Cas amends. “I’m ready for someplace new...” He looks away, cheeks turning pink. “With you.”

They spend the next several hours of the night sifting through endless listings in print and online and sharing their discoveries with each other. Some are immediately vetoed, usually because they’re either below the standard of living that either of them are comfortable with or are too expensive, either wildly or just out of their reach. Cas bookmarks the rare possibilities they find, keeping track of them on a word document for later reference.

However, it takes them a couple of days to accumulate a modest list of places to check out. At first, the hunt seemed fruitless because everything they could find was just too expensive or too far away from campus for a reasonable bus trip or bike ride. Castiel may have a car, but Sam is still bound to public transportation and being a pedestrian to get places he needs to go.

After the list grows to five listings that are realistically attainable, Sam and Castiel decide that it’s for the best that they actually start making plans to visit these places before even trying to make a decision.

“I think it would be good if we could put aside one day to visit apartments,” Castiel says to him during a commercial break one afternoon a few days later. “How about Saturday?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replies, standing up from the couch and his legs thank him for the stretch. “I’ll just, uh, go give Ellen a call and see if I can get that day off.”

Sam helps himself to a glass of water in the kitchen while he listens to the ringing and waits for someone on the other end to pick up.

“Ellen’s Roadhouse, this is Ellen, what can I do for you?” comes his boss’ automatic and professional greeting. Lucky for him, Ellen herself answered the phone instead of one of his coworkers, who would undoubtedly give him shit for calling in on a day that he doesn’t normally work. Sam’s known for being a little bit of an ‘overly-serious’ employee and picking up shifts when someone calls out. She still sounds busy, perhaps a little more annoyed than her usual tone of voice. He can hear the hustle and bustle of the kitchen in the background.

“Hey, it’s Sam.”

“Sam, how are you? Is there something wrong?”

“What? No, nothing’s wrong,” Sam answers quickly. She’s always been one to mother him, being way too generous concerning scheduling beginning wages—and this time he hopes it shines through in his favor. “I need to look for a new apartment soon so I was wondering if I could get Saturday off?”

“Sam, honey, we’ve got that private party on Saturday,” Ellen reminds him. Sam shuts his eyes. He totally forgot about that and he can’t try to back out now, not when Ellen will need his help and the extra money would be more than welcome. “How about Friday?”

“You’d give me Friday off?” Sam asks, failing to hide his bewilderment. Friday is the second busiest day of the week for the restaurant.

“Yeah, Margaret’ll come in.”

‘Really?’ Sam thinks. Maggie never seemed particularly eager to pick up extra shifts, especially on such notice. She always talked about how her social calendar was filled to the brim. “She agreed to that?”

“Nope.” Ellen’s answer is punctuated by a short laugh. “But she’s missed like three shifts in the past few weeks and didn’t call in, so if she wants to keep her job here then she’s gonna have to.”

“That’s a little harsh,” Sam says half-heartedly.

“That’s business. Anyways, is Friday gonna work for you or not?"

“One sec,” he replies, holding the phone’s receiver to his chest. Sam rounds the kitchen corner and leans on the doorframe between the hall and the living room. His presence causes Castiel to look away from the movie, eyes glimmering in the light of the screen. “Would Friday work for you instead?”

“I suppose it will,” Castiel says after quick consideration. “I have a job interview that morning but we could go after.”

“Oka—wait, you have an interview? Where?”

His boyfriend shrugs, his eyes returning to the movie. “A local television studio in Santa Clara.”

Sam frowns. It’s not exactly the most enthusiastic response to finally finding an interview.

“Sam?” comes Ellen’s voice, sounding distant and smothered against his chest. He almost forgot what he was on the phone for in the first place. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” he answers, shoving the phone back to his ear. “Friday’s good.”

“Alright, Sam. You be good and good luck finding a new place. See you tomorrow night.”

In his head, Sam’s dubbed the day “Apartment Day.”

With a stack of printouts containing information on all the apartments they plan on visiting, Sam and Castiel leave in the BMW at the ungodly hour of eight in the morning on Friday. Well, Sam’s been up earlier than that many times before, but he’s not exactly a fan of waking up early when he doesn’t have to go to class or work on a paper. He didn’t sleep very well the night before and he’s hesitant to admit to himself that it was because he was both nervous and excited for their search the next day. It was like being a kid on the night before the first day of school again. 

Strange. 

He tries to nap in the car in the station’s small parking lot while Castiel is inside but he ends up playing Sudoku on Castiel’s smartphone. He breezes through a dozen puzzles by the time his boyfriend returns to the car, about thirty minutes later.

“How did it go?” Sam asks as Cas slides into the driver’s seat.

Throwing the car into gear, Castiel stays silent and stony faced until they’ve pulled out onto the main road. “I don’t think I want to work there.”

“What, why?”

“It’s like the local equivalent to Fox News. Horrendously researched and full of pretentious employees,” Castiel informs him grudgingly, squinting at the yellow traffic light as he tightens his knuckles around the leather of the steering wheel, guiding the car to a halt. “I’ll take the job as a last resort but… I won’t like it.”

“Then why even apply?” Sam asks, understanding his boyfriend’s reasoning but not his logic.

“Because, well, I’m taking my family’s advice and keeping my options open.” His voice is tainted with disdain. It’s still a sore topic. “But I would like to stay within my degree’s scope, at least.”

“Fair enough.”

“Well, we’re off to more pleasant things, right?” Castiel says, shrugging as if the motion throws off all his worry. “Which address is first?”

Sam scrambles to pull the printouts from between the seat and the center console. He quickly flips through the pages, stapled out of order but numbered in pen in the corner by what would make the most convenient and efficient route. “Uhh, the one on Waverly Street.”

“Is that east or west on El Camino?”

Sam has to look it up on Castiel’s navigation app. “West.”

Acting as navigator, Sam guides them through the gridded streets of Palo Alto. The building is near the college town’s center, which is already a plus in Castiel’s book. The streets are quieter than those near campus, but they benefit from not having college parties constantly and lots of pedestrian traffic.

The apartment itself is rather plain and unexciting. The bedroom, living room, and kitchen are practically comprised of two square boxes and a closet-sized bathroom attached. The leasing agent goes on and on about the ‘amenities’ the building offers, none of which sound particularly above the standard. Electricity, water, heat and air conditioning—though the last of which Sam’s own apartment doesn't even boast. Sam politely humors the man’s presentation while Castiel snoops around the rooms, finally settling on looking down through the living-room-slash-kitchen window to the street.

“I’m not sure if the neighborhood is safe,” he says quietly when Sam approaches.

“What makes you think that?”

“I have a feeling. And there are some houses with bars on their windows, which isn’t very encouraging. Besides, isn’t this a little too far from your work?”

It’s true. Ellen’s restaurant is the complete opposite direction from campus, nearly doubling his bus commute if they were to pick this place. “Well, yeah. But it wouldn’t be that terrible, I could still make it work. But if you don’t like the area…”

“No, no,” Castiel argues, shaking his head. “We can keep this as a possibility. The rent is decent, relatively speaking.”

The next apartment about ten minutes away is absolutely perfect. It shocks them both how quickly they found a place that suits their needs and wants to the letter. Partially furnished, plenty of space, a kitchen that is separate from the living room. The windows are tall and there is a small patio outside that gets plenty of sunlight. They would also each have their own closet, which isn’t necessary but very, very appealing. 

And all for a very, _very_ low price.

“Oh? Oh, no, gosh,” the landlord gasps, covering her mouth when Sam inquires about closing the deal. She looks embarrassed, for all of them. “That price is a misprint. You must have seen an older listing in the paper. From May? Oh dear, I’m sorry.”

Sam’s jaw literally drops open when she tells them the real number. _‘So much for perfect.’_

“Too good to be true,” Castiel says, voicing both of their thoughts as they walk out to the car together. “I should have known when I saw the double closets.”

When they walk into the next apartment on their list, Sam almost walks straight back out again. Without looking back. Hell, without Castiel too. Yep, he would have just leave him there and put as much distance as he could between him and that building.

The place is horrendous. It’s absolutely nothing like the pictures on the website, depicting a nice clean space with beige walls, decently-sized windows, and a small but usable kitchen. No, this is nothing at all like that. Instead, the paint is chipped and scratched on the wall, there’s a dozen spiders that scamper around the kitchen when they enter, and there’s mold growing in more than one of the ceiling corners. The carpet is worn and dirty, showing stains from previous owners and Sam doesn’t even want to think about what the big reddish-brown one in the hall is from. 

His mind immediately jumps to _‘murder scene, I’m standing in a murder scene’_ but he quickly tosses that thought away. If it weren’t for all the issues with the apartment already, just theorizing about what could have happened here makes him shiver.

The landlord just stands in the doorway, watching them with her beady eyes—Sam has an inkling that one of them is glass—and unfortunately blocking their only way out. They both act as if they are thoroughly inspecting the place, tossing knowing looks at each other whenever they’re out of the woman’s sight.

Finally, they tell her they’re still going to look at a few more places before making the final decision. She scowls at them and sends them away, and they walk to the parking lot quickly.

“Wow, I never thought I’d find a place in worse shape than mine but… we did. We found one.” The idea sounds impossible to Sam when he voices it, but it’s true. He’s actually witnessed it for himself and he hopes to never again.

“And do you feel better about your own apartment?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Well, that’s something. I wonder if anyone will ever bother to rent it with all repairs it requires.”

“And all those spiders,” Sam adds.

“If anything, at least that place has a few less spiders now,” Castiel says. “I killed some. At least three of them.”

Sam looks at his boyfriend incredulously.

Castiel shoots him a flat look of disbelief. “Don’t tell me I’m going to be the one to kill all the spiders.”

“No, I’m not scared of spiders,” Sam assures him. Though he’s held a tarantula in his hand before, he’s not exactly keen on the idea that they’d just be crawling through the walls and behind kitchen appliances. Who knows if there were even more than they saw, or a nest or two. He can deal with the occasional spider, but not as many as they just saw. “But if there’s gonna be that many spiders, they better pay rent!”

Castiel laughs, the hearty sweet sound that Sam loves. “We could have split the rent into thirds, then. You, me, and the spiders. It might have been worth the price.”

“If we only had to pay two-thirds of the rent, would you have even considered that place?”

“Definitely not,” he answers with a shake of his head. “Twenty minutes in there made me feel like I need a shower.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, pulling out the printouts again to see what’s next on their list. “Plus the landlord kind of freaked me out.”

“Sam!”

“It’s not just the glass eye! She looked like she could see through walls! There was also this feeling of ‘impending doom’ too.”

Castiel doesn’t disagree.

They drive to the last address on their list, but upon their arrival, they’re informed by the front desk attendant that the last available apartment has just been leased a few days before. It’s bad news, since the place seemed actually kind of nice and reasonably affordable. 

On their ride home, Sam stares out the window at the passing scenery, his heart slowly dropping little by little by every block. Maybe they’ll have to set aside another day to look at more apartments… Sam can only take so many days off from Ellen’s until his coworkers peg him as her ‘favorite.’ Besides, finding the apartments that they visited today was hard enough. But having to find an entirely new list of places in the area? That’ll be difficult.

Maybe they’ll have to go with the first place. It wasn’t that bad, it had the bare essentials of what they wanted. But it was going to double his commute time to work and that would most likely wear him down very quickly. And not only that, Castiel didn’t like the neighborhood. Unfortunately Sam has to strike the option from their list. It just wasn’t worth it.

He sighs. It’s not like he expected them to find a place right away, but something passes through Sam’s field of vision that makes him blink out of his thoughts. _‘What was that?’_

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“Go back, I think I saw something.”

Castiel questions him no further, saying nothing. Instead he makes a quite possibly illegal U-turn at the intersection at the end of the block and drives back from where they just came.

Sure enough, Sam’s mind was right. There’s a small, yellow, unassuming sign planted in the small strip of grass between the sidewalk and street. In plain black lettering, it says “FOR RENT AT EDEN APARTMENTS.”

They look at each other and Sam shrugs. “Worth a shot.”

Castiel pulls the car into the small parking lot of an unassuming one story building, pulling into one of the two visitor spaces. The building that houses the front office is well-kept. Its vinyl siding is painted a muted mossy green and the door to the lobby is framed with a pot of blooming hollyhock flowers on each side.

When they go inside, there’s no one at the front desk or even in the office, even when Castiel rings the silver bell on the counter. They wait a few minutes more and he rings the bell a second time, though to no avail. 

“I guess that’s a ‘no,’” Sam says, trying to hide his disappointment as they return to the parking lot.

Threading their fingers together, they decide to look around anyways, to see what they can by just walking around. Maybe they’ll have to call and make an appointment to actually see a place, like they did with others. After all, this was a spontaneous visit.

Eden Apartments is a very small collection of apartments, all built in two thin parallel strips, capped on one side by the leasing office. The outside of each apartment has a numbered parking spot. The general atmosphere seems tranquil and they can hardly hear the noise from passing cars on the road. With the way that the apartments are situated, it feels like the apartments are on a street and don’t have the usual dorm-like feel like others have.

“I like that there aren’t any stairs or elevators to deal with,” Castiel remarks, gesturing to the one story building. “It would certainly make moving in easier.”

Sam agrees.

Much to their surprise, each apartment has direct access to a garden that divides the two main buildings. It seems like a relatively public space, like a miniature park, so they walk the path to go through, seeing the back side of the apartments. Sam’s not exactly sure if they’re supposed to be there, but they’re not causing any harm and hopefully anyone who sees them might assume they’re just another set of neighbors they haven’t met.

The garden itself is beautiful. Sam wasn’t sure that this much greenery could grow in the California drought. The grass that edges the cement path is lush and healthy, only showing the slightest evidence of drying out in the summer sun. What truly strikes him is the flowers that grow along the furthest edges of the center area, dividing the courtyard and the apartments’ separate small patios. There are flowers and plants of many types and Sam suspects the theme of the garden to be California-native. He couldn’t name any of them for his life, but he could at least appreciate the dedication it took to cultivate such an array.

Near the opposite end of the long strip, they nearly stumble over a man who is on his knees, bent over upturned soil and surrounded by a few gardening tools. Though they don’t make a sound, he seems to hear them anyways and he sets down his hand shovel to turn and look at them.

“You boys have come to the right place,” the gardener says, voice soft and almost grandfather-like. It’s a strange greeting, to say the least, coming from a complete stranger.

“Um…” Sam begins, rubbing the back of his neck. He surely hoped so, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud.

The man pushes himself up from his kneeling position, brushing the blades of grass off his knees as he stands. “May I help you boys?”

“Do you know where we can find the landlord?” Castiel says, always jumping right to the point.

“Why yes, I’ll show you,” the man says, gesturing for them to follow him.

They walk wordlessly a few steps behind as the gardener leads them down the winding garden path and back to the leasing office. Castiel shoots Sam a look of confusion as they return to the air-conditioned lobby.

“Excuse me,” Cas says, trying to get the man’s attention. “We’ve already tried ringing the be—”

But then the gardener moves behind the front desk, which stuns them both into silence. The man smiles at them, looking between the two. “Hello, my name is Joshua and I look after Eden Apartments. What can I do for you folks today?”

 _‘Oh,’_ Sam thinks, _‘that explains a lot.’_

“We’re here to look at an apartment, if you’ve got any left,” he answers, shrugging off the embarrassing feeling that they were talking to the landlord the entire time and didn’t know it. “We, uh, saw the sign out by the road so we just kind of thought…”

“Ah yes,” Joshua nods knowingly. “There is one left. However, it is one-bedroom... but I have a feeling you two won’t seem to mind.”

The insinuation makes Sam go red. They’re an out and open couple and no doubt the man saw them walking hand-in-hand through the courtyard, but it still seems odd. Though now that Sam thinks about it, he rarely hears comments about their relationship anymore. Joshua made a bold assumption, but the older man isn’t wrong and Sam’s not about to say anything about it. And neither will Castiel, apparently.

“I’ll get the keys.”

The only available apartment is at the end of the row that’s furthest away from the busy road. Joshua gives provides information about the complex in general as they walk to it, telling them that the building isn’t too old and it’s somewhat rare that new people join the neighborhood as most of the tenants are long-time residents. Many of the front doors they pass on the way have potted plants and flowers beside them, sometimes even window boxes full of small blossoms or herb gardens. Little touches of personality and life. When Joshua catches Sam staring at them, he chuckles. “Many of my tenants have been inspired by my garden and try to bring it to their own homes.”

Having not seen any pictures of these apartments online or in a newspaper, Sam has no idea what to expect when Joshua unlocks the front door of apartment number fifteen. Castiel seems immediately interested in looking around, moving across the main living space and disappearing around a corner. The large window next to the patio door lets in plenty of sunlight and illuminates the room in the soft warm glow.

He follows Castiel, finding him in the kitchen just past a small square of space that is obviously meant for a table. It’s nice and clean and the appliances aren’t terribly ancient. There’s an oven with a stovetop, a full-sized refrigerator, and a countertop that spans the length of Sam’s arms, with storage cabinets underneath. It’s nothing more than they need.

The bedroom is also decently sized, with just enough room for a large bed and two nightstands. There’s a wall closet on the opposite side of the window and thankfully it’s not tiny like some of the closets they’ve already seen that day. It’s not like either of them have insane amounts of clothing, but having storage space is nice. Being able to hang things up instead of piling things in a laundry basket makes Sam feel like he actually has his shit together.

When Sam returns to the living room, both Castiel and Joshua stand beside each other a few feet away from the window overlooking the patio and courtyard. 

“The garden is beautiful,” Castiel says, giving a slight nod to the well cared for common space outside.

Joshua smiles, bright and warm like the summer sun that he seemingly spends most of his time under. “Thank you. One might say I have a green thumb.”

“It must take a lot of work to grow so many flowers in desert conditions.”

“Oh,” Joshua shrugs humbly. “It takes effort, but I believe the plants do most of the work. I only provide them a place to live and nourishment and they do the rest. Then it is up to them if they want to stay or not.”

“Hm,” Castiel hums, nodding.

The whole exchange seems surreal to Sam, like they’re somehow speaking a language within English that he’s not versed in. So instead he just walks the perimeter of the apartment, looking through each room and trying to picture what it might look like with their stuff in it. His imagination works in overdrive to picture Castiel’s beloved flatscreen in the corner of the living room and his bookshelf of DVDs beside it. Sam’s charcoal sketch of the library from Drawing II somehow appears framed on the wall over the imaginary suede couch. Their toothbrushes frame the edges of the white porcelain sink.

In his mind, the patio door stays open during the spring to let in cool breezes and he can imagine having dinner outside in the evenings. Their bed takes up most of the space in the small bedroom, but that’s okay. They’ll always need their own space to sprawl out after busy days and long shifts, and he can almost feel himself waking up next to Cas every day in that very room. Sam pictures clothing in the wall closet, divided down the middle for each of their wardrobes.

Somehow not a lot of Sam’s own furniture makes it into his imaginary apartment. It’s not like he has a lot to offer anyways, except for maybe his desk.

“I’ll leave you gentlemen to look around. If you are interested, you know where to find me,” Joshua says, bidding them goodbye before slipping through the back door to, no doubt, continue to work on the garden.

“Well,” Castiel says, after a brief moment of silence. “The landlord doesn’t seem terrifying.”

“I haven’t seen any spiders yet,” Sam returns in the same tone.

“The price seems feasible.”

“It’s not too far from campus or work.”

“There’s just enough space for the two of us.”

“I haven’t seen any mold or crumbling drywall.”

“Do you think…?” Castiel begins but trails off too quickly.

Sam stares at his boyfriend on baited breath. He’s pretty damn sure he knows what Cas is going to say next. He shouldn’t set his heart on hearing those word, but he can’t help himself.

“Do you think this is... _the place?_ ” he continues, completing his thought this time. The way Cas says ‘the place’ makes Sam’s heart skip a beat.

He nods. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, if you like it then yeah.”

Castiel reaches out an arm, his fingers tracing around Sam’s wrist weaving their fingers together. He gives Sam’s hand a little squeeze. “I love it.”

Suddenly there’s a bright burst of light and warmth that erupts from deep within Sam. He’s floating, he’s elated. After looking at listings for weeks and spending an entire day visiting more than half a dozen places, they’ve found it. They’ve found their future home.

“Well then, let’s go tell the neighborhood gardener that we’re interested,” Sam says, smiling as a redness blooms on his cheeks.

“We’ll need furniture,” Sam says over a pasta dinner later that evening. It’s with this statement that it begins to feel real. They’re going to do it. They’re going to move in together and have their own space to call theirs. Joshua told them to return in a few days to sign the paperwork that he has to draw up, and then they can move in as soon as it’s all said and done. Thankfully Sam was able to cancel his apartment’s lease early for a modest fee, so they’ll both be ready to move into Eden in about two weeks.

However, the reality doesn’t seem to phase Castiel just yet. Or maybe it has and his poker face is strong, Sam’s not too sure. “I own the furniture in my apartment. I’m sure we can use most of it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I would prefer to take the bed and nightstands with us, at the very least. And the television, of course. I’m very partial to the couch, but we can discuss what we want to keep and what we could sell.”

Sam agrees, his mind drifting to all the different possibilities.

The next day marks the beginning of three things: the day they have to begin packing, the day Castiel has to start seriously looking for a full-time job, and the day that Sam has to finally get his ass in gear and study for the inevitable LSAT that he has to take at the end of the summer, which is actually a lot sooner than he’d like to believe.

Since Castiel declares that his first job interview doesn’t count, he spends the entire day making calls and arranging interviews, lining them up in a row over Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Sam is completely unsurprised when he hears a loud and scratchy thumping noise through his phone’s receiver, most likely from Castiel tossing his phone at the couch like he’s seen happen before. 

He hears his boyfriend let out a frustrated groan. “I have a degree in Media and Film, not Computer Science!”

“What did you expect? Tech and the media are kind of inseparable now. It’s hard to have one and not the other. Besides, you can use computers just fine,” Sam reminds him over the phone. He’s currently in his own apartment, folding any clothes that he knows he won’t need in the next week and putting them into the duffle he initially brought to Stanford for freshman year. Thankfully the majority of his clothes still fit in it, with only maybe a box leftover.

“Yeah, but I’m not proficient enough to be a digital film technician or sound engineer.” Castiel retrieves his phone, unlocking it and scrolling through something from earlier. “Why doesn’t anyone need a film archivist? Or a media researcher?” he bemoans. “That I could easily do.”

“Finding jobs in the film industry is hard.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Sam tries to reason with him and suggest some options to him. “It’s okay if you don’t find something right away. You could get a different job in the meantime while you look—”

“Stop it, Sam. Just stop it.” Sam’s about to ask what’s wrong but Castiel continues, his voice sounding infinitely smaller as he mutters. “You’re starting to sound like my family.”

Oh.

“Sorry. You’ll find a job somewhere, even if it’s just to get your foot in the door,” he finally offers. “I know you will.”

He hears Cas sigh and mumble something. “I hope so.”

After his interviews on Monday—which have been described as merely ‘okay’—Castiel comes over to help Sam pack some boxes for moving. Well, there’s actually not a lot of packing occurring as Sam doesn’t own that much stuff in the first place. In fact, Sam thinks they’ll get done with the majority of his stuff by the time he has to leave for work.

Castiel empties out Sam’s kitchenette cupboards, piling up the mismatching pots and pans that he thrifted from Goodwill at one time or another on the counter before transferring them to a box in the studio’s bedroom. Though Sam hasn’t been keeping things sorted in any form or fashion, Castiel has been clearly keeping things separate and has designated one of the cardboard boxes by writing ‘Sam’s Kitchen’ on the side of it with black sharpie, as well as ‘Sam’s Clothes,’ ‘Sam’s Books,’ and ‘Sam’s ETC’ on everything else. He tries to distract Cas with kisses and nap breaks but his boyfriend seems completely focused on the task at hand, which Sam supposes is a good thing in the end.

On Tuesday, only a few days before their official move-in day, Sam notices that he has more stuff than he originally realized. There’s an entire box of just books that he’s purchased over the years, for both reference and pleasure. His kitchen stuff and dishware takes up another box. There’s a box of clothes next to his duffle and another box of school supplies.

Which leaves his apartment especially bare, except for his scant amount of furniture. The box frame that came with his mattress, his desk, his shelf that wobbles if there are too many books in it, his floor lamp, and the thrifted floral print loveseat that looks—and smells—like it came straight out of an old lady’s house.

After thinking about the space they have and the furniture he has to choose from, Sam taps out a text to Cas.

_[Sam: I think I’ll keep my desk and my lamp. But the rest of my furniture can go.]_

_[Cas: That sounds good. To be honest, I was hoping that you wouldn’t want to keep your couch.]_

_[Cas: It smells like a retirement home.]_

_[Sam: Oh god no, I barely fit on it in the first place. I doubt both of us would.]_

_[Cas: Will you be selling the rest?]_

_[Sam: Yeah, probably on Craigslist. I think I paid about 60 bucks for the couch in the first place and paid a neighbor 10 to help me move it.]_

_[Cas: Which reminds me, did you ask Brady about his truck?]_

_[Sam: Yes! We can borrow it on Saturday.]_

On Wednesday, the next afternoon, Castiel shows up on his doorstep completely unexpected but bearing a bright smile that Sam knows is akin to something very good. “I was hired on the spot,” he announces.

“Oh?” Sam asks, stepping to the side to let him in and closing the door behind them. “Which place? The news station or the…” he struggles to remember for a moment, “the silent film museum?”

“Channel Seven,” Castiel says, still smiling. “I’m going to be the assistant to the production manager, which isn’t really that great but—”

“Hey, you’ve got a job in your field and you’re gonna get paid. And there’s nowhere to go but up.”

“Exactly,” he says, spreading his arms and flopping backwards onto Sam’s bed and bouncing a little on the springs. “I’m so glad that my search is over. Job interviews are exhausting. I think I answered variations of the same ten questions six times over the past three days.”

Sam busies himself with folding the rest of his clean laundry and packing it away, leaving out only the clothes he’ll need in the next few days. “So what does an assistant production manager do?”

“Assistant _to_ the production manager,” Castiel corrects him. Then he sits up straight on the mattress with a look of realization on his face. “I’m actually… not sure what they do.”

“Hmm,” he hums, digging his phone out of the pocket of his black dress pants. He searches for typical job descriptions for a assistant to the production manager, bringing up one of the first pages that Google provides. “It looks like I may be assisting with coordinating and keeping schedules. That’s good, I’m very organized.”

Sam chuckles softly. Yeah, if anything, Castiel is punctual and remarkably organized. In fact, it’s something that he somewhat envious of. Sam keeps a planner and he generally knows where to find his stuff in his apartment, but it tends to fall to pieces near midterms and finals. Even under extreme stress, Castiel always seems to keep his life together. 

“Oh, I can do this… and this…” Castiel says, mostly to himself as he scrolls through a page on his phone. “This doesn’t seem unmanageable. Wait, ‘oversees social media’?”

Sam shrugs. “Like Twitter, I guess. Or maybe Instagram?”

Castiel seems unhappy with the answer.

“Maybe you won’t have to do that, or even half of that stuff. You don’t know the full extent of your job yet so you’ll just have to see on Monday when you start.”

On Thursday, Sam gets a call from Joshua, saying that all of the arrangements have been made and the official lease is ready to be signed. They make it to the leasing office just before noon and sign and initial in a dozen places before their new landlord looks over the documents.

Sam’s excitement for everything amplifies with each scratch of the pen. He loves the way his signature looks next to Castiel’s on the forms, he loves the way that Joshua says “your apartment” when explaining terms to them. But most of all, he loves the little squeezes that his boyfriend gives him as they hold hands under the counter with each part of the process. Little reassurances, little bits of evidence that this is actually happening. It’s real.

“Everything seems to be in order,” Joshua says finally, filing the contract away in a metal file cabinet before turning back to them. “You’re able to move in as soon as you wish, but please be mindful of other tenants. Do you know when you will move in?”

“Saturday,” Castiel answers.

Their landlord gives them a warm smile, sliding two brass keys across the desk. “Well then, gentlemen. Welcome to Eden Apartments.”

As they walk back to the parking lot, Sam’s worried that it’s all a dream. A decent affordable apartment? That they found randomly while driving by? With only one available? It’s all too good to be true. He’s half expecting to wake up from a dream and be back in his own cruddy apartment to find out that this place never existed, maybe even that Castiel never asked him to live together in the first place.

But he knows it’s real when the car doors shut and Castiel pulls him over the center console of the car for a kiss. Not even in his best dreams are their kisses so full of love and tenderness. Nope, the heartbeat in Sam’s chest and the warmth of Cas’ lips are all too real.

“Sam,” he says after pulling away and Sam finds himself watching Cas lick his dry lips. “It’s happening. We found our _home._ ”

“Mm, say that again,” Sam asks, eyes fluttering shut as he leans in again.

“Our ho-” But he can’t finish as Sam cuts him off with another kiss.

Just then, an older woman, maybe mid-fifties with graying blonde hair and a small green watering can in one hand, comes out of the apartment just beside their car. Their eyes connect as she spots them and they wrench apart, completely startled as they both turn bright red.

Thankfully, after she sets her watering can underneath the window, she smiles and gives them a small wave before retreating back inside of apartment number two. After they both let out simultaneous sighs of relief, Cas lets out a low chuckle. “It would probably be best if we didn’t make a scene before we even moved in.”

“Right,” Sam agrees sheepishly.

Castiel shifts the car into drive, pulling out of the parking lot of the apartment complex and onto the road leading back towards campus. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

“Barnes and Noble got my LSAT books in yesterday, so I’m probably gonna pick them up before I go to work.”

“We can do that now,” Castiel offers, already pulling into a turn lane. “I’d like to look around.”

They stop at the bookstore on the way back and Cas immediately disappears among the rows of shelves. Sam hunts down an employee to retrieve his reserved order from behind the counter and when checks out, Castiel appears by his side with two magazines tucked under his arm. He just barely catches the title, printed across the front in a bold orange font. “Did you really just buy _Good Housekeeping?_ ”

“It has a section on apartment organization. And the other one has storage tips for small spaces.”

It’s so cheesy, it’s so dorky, but his boyfriend’s hidden excitement and eagerness to move in and make the place their own warms his heart. Sometimes Cas can be a stony man with a professional poker face and the driest sense of humor on earth, but other times he can be someone that Sam can only describe as ‘absolutely adorable.’

“Great,” Sam says, smiling as he hands over his card to purchase some of the most expensive pieces of paper he’s ever bought. Thankfully selling his couch, shelves, table and chairs to people around campus has paid for a good chunk of it. “Maybe we can use some of that.”

On Friday, Sam curiously cracks one of the LSAT prep books open and is immediately overwhelmed. He shoves them into a box and makes a promise that he’ll start studying after they move in.

_‘Why did I sign myself up for this?’_

On Saturday, a day that both was tortuously slow and too quick to arrive, they move.

Sam picks up Brady’s red Toyota truck at eight in the morning. His friend answers the door of his shared house a few blocks away, wearing only boxers, a thin v-neck, and a white sheet wrapped around his shoulders. He squints into the sunlight, blinking at Sam a dozen times before saying anything.

“The world shouldn’t be awake at this hour, Sam. Normal people sleep in on Saturdays,” Brady says, holding out a set of keys on a ring between them.

“You’re not a normal person either. You sleep ‘til four,” Sam retorts, letting his friend drop the keys into his open palm.

“Don’t lose those. My house keys are on there.”

“I won’t, Brady. Thanks again for letting me borrow your truck.”

“No problem. Good luck with moving. Again!”

They decide to move Sam’s stuff first, since it’ll take up less room in the truck bed than Castiel’s numerous boxes and furniture. The biggest item he has is his desk, which they work together to load into the back of the truck before filling in the extra space with the rest of Sam’s boxes. By a true miracle, everything he decided to keep makes it to Eden Apartments in one go. There only needs to be Sam’s backpack by Cas’ feet and his dufflebag on his lap.

On the other hand, the volume of Castiel’s apartment is slowly depleted over the course of several hours—by way of loading the trunk, driving across town, and unloading them again. Over and over and over.

“I never realized just how many DVDs you own,” Sam remarks, putting down the box in his arms on top of two other boxes that are stacked in the corner of the living room, also labeled ‘Castiel’s DVDs’ in black sharpie. If Sam had to guess, there might be thousands of dollars worth of movies in there. Not to mention the good-sized TV that sits along the wall a few feet away. “Think you’ve got enough?”

“I enjoy my collection,” Castiel says after returning from depositing Sam’s kitchen box on the counter. “Netflix doesn’t have everything.”

Sam nods.

“Did you know Netflix doesn’t have _The Godfather_ nor the 1933 adaptation of _King Kong_?”

As usual, a piece of trivia that most people wouldn’t know. 

“I would have never guessed.”

Their move takes all morning and part of the afternoon and it takes a ridiculous amount of trips to get all the stuff. The heaviest of Castiel’s stuff comes on the last few trips, like the mattress, nightstands, shelves, the couch and matching armchair. Essentially, their new apartment will be furnished by mostly Castiel’s furniture, which doesn’t bother either of them. Sam’s furniture was all thrifted and in relatively poor shape and he won’t miss them for even a second. 

They have little arguments throughout the day, mostly about how to get the couch through the front door—“No, Cas, we have to tilt it to the left!”—and how the television and couch should be situated—“There will be a glare if we put it here.”—but Sam figures it’s only natural. They always ultimately come to an agreement, either mutually or one just gives up on the argument as a whole. Sam doesn’t really care about what direction the bed faces, especially since the blackout curtains will make sure the sun stays out when they want it to. Each of them have their small victories, their small agreements and disagreements, and slowly they assemble the apartment’s main staples in their permanent places.

With the truck finally empty and all their belongings finally moved into the apartment, they stand shoulder to shoulder, looking out to the boxes that are scattered across the floor of the apartment. It could be worse—they could have more, it could be completely overwhelming. Even so, it’s still an intimidating sight and it doesn’t seem like either of them are particularly excited for this next part of the process.

“I don’t think I have it in me to start unpacking tonight,” Sam declares, folding his arms.

“Definitely not,” Castiel agrees with a shake of his head. “I think we should unpack little by little and only get out the necessities at first.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“But,” Castiel begins after a pause, “I think we have to christen the kitchen.”

“What?” Sam gapes, spinning to stare at him with wide eyes.

“Let’s celebrate by making dinner,” Castiel says, rolling up onto his toes and pressing a kiss to the corner of Sam’s slack mouth. He laughs as he walks to retrieve his wallet and car keys from the kitchen counter. “Oh Sam, what a dirty mind.”

“You’re the one using words like ‘christen!’”

“To the apartment,” Castiel announces, raising his glass for yet another toast. Probably the fourth one of the evening. So far, they’ve all been exactly the same.

“To your new job,” Sam returns with his line, clinking their glasses together. It truly is an evening to celebrate: the apartment, Cas’ job, and each other.

Castiel leans back on the arm of the couch, bringing the stemmed glass up to his lips and empties it all in one go just as Sam finishes his. They set their glasses aside on one of the nearby cardboard boxes, empty and well-enjoyed. 

Kneeling on the cushions, Sam leans forwards until he's bracing his hands on the couch on either side of Castiel's head, looming over him. His predatory gaze focuses in sharply on Castiel before it softens and a lopsided grin. He laughs softly before leaning in, eyes sliding shut as his lips sloppily connect to the side of Cas’ face, somewhere on the side of his nose.

"I can't believe you missed," Castiel says with an affectionate smile, reaching up to graze his fingers along the rough stubbled skin of Sam’s jaw from two days without shaving. “You have horrible aim.”

"Shut up," Sam huffs, attempting to land another kiss on him but missing once more, kissing the corner of Cas' lips instead before letting himself collapse onto his boyfriend.

"Oomph," Cas grunts from underneath him, wiggling a little in the struggle to escape. "Get off, you’re going to suffocate me."

"No, I'm not." Sam grins, digging his face into the crook of Castiel’s neck, the tip of his nose nudging the soft heated skin exposed by the sagging neckline of Cas' tee shirt.

"Fine, you're not,” he relents, “but you are heavy. ‘Cause you’re so tall. Too tall."

Sam chuckles, giving a little nod. “Fair enough.”

The room spins a little when Sam leans and twists them until they’re settled a little more comfortably on the couch cushions. He’s still mostly splayed out on top of Castiel, but it seems better for the both of them compared to before.

“The food was good,” Castiel comments, staring up at the white stucco ceiling of the new apartment. _Their_ new apartment. “The wine was really good.”

“Huh? Which one?”

“Both of them… I liked the shiraz but I generally prefer merlot.”

“Ah,” Sam says, nodding his head in fake understanding. Red wine was red wine to him. The only differences to him were the tastes that varied by color. “After the first few glasses, I didn’t really notice or care what they tasted like.”

Castiel laughs and the sound is lighthearted and pleasant as it floats through Sam’s ears. “Lightweight.”

“Unlike you,” Sam retorts, pressing a finger to the tip of his boyfriend’s nose. Surprisingly, he doesn’t miss and Cas’ face scrunches up at the contact. “Where did you learn to drink so much anyways?”

“You don’t _learn_ how to drink, Sam.”

Sam groans, rolling his eyes. “You get what I’m sayin’.”

“Well,” Cas begins, taking a breath of consideration. Sam settles himself part-way on top of him, finally giving the man some space to breathe. He listens attentively, like he’s listening to an interesting bedtime story with a mystical plot. “As you know, I grew up with Gabriel as an older brother. He threw a lot of parties in high school just like he did in college and had the reputation of a good time for all. Since our father was away so much and Michael and Lucifer had already left for university, Gabriel always had the opportunity to throw lots of parties at our house.”

Sam tries to process the information through his alcohol-addled brain. He still has so many questions about Castiel’s family. His boyfriend has always kept them a mystery from him, a secret stashed away like a skeleton in the closet. Over the years, he’s only been able to glean a small amount of information from the man. Sam knows that Castiel’s mother died when he was a sophomore in high school and his father started making himself sparse shortly after, only to completely disappear and show up dead a few years later. Though he met most of them at Castiel’s graduation dinner, the Novak family history still feels like an enigma.

“There was constantly a crowd of Gabriel’s peers at our home,” Castiel continues, drawing Sam away from his thoughts and back into the story. “Their incessant chatter and loud music made it impossible to sleep or study or even read!”

Sam snickers, resting his chin on Castiel’s chest and looking him straight in the face. “You sound like an old man.”

“Wanting peace and quiet doesn’t make me old.”

“True.”

“Anyway, most of these parties resulted in me being dragged from my room. Gabriel always said something along the lines of ‘you need to socialize!’” he says, mocking Gabriel’s voice and it was a little off the mark. “But he almost always just meant that I needed to get drunk and get laid. So, as a person wholly uninterested in one of those suggestions, I made sure to do the other.”

He shrugs shortly before stretching, arms reaching up and curling around the arm of the couch. Sam can feel the stretch of muscle and flesh moving underneath him as the man yawns.

“So, I essentially placated my brother by doing shots with him so he wouldn’t bug me about it later.”

“Like you did at Balthazar’s Halloween party?”

“Yes,” Castiel nods after taking a moment to remember the event. “I usually went back to my room after appeasing Gabriel’s whims for a short while, but sometimes I stayed downstairs.”

“And did what?”

“I don’t know…,” he replies, giving him another half-shrug and glancing away. “Drinking… and stuff.”

“Oh… Oh my god—” Sam says, eyes opening wide in realization. The sight of his grin causes Castiel to shoot him a worried glare. “You had a party streak!”

“I did not!”

“Well, I mean, you partied more than I did.”

“Correction: Gabriel partied more than you did. I just happened to live there.”

“Yeah,” Sam replies, shaking his head and leering at him. “So obviously this trend continued on into college.”

“Yep,” Castiel admits, letting out this adorable little hiccup that makes Sam’s heart jump. “Though, by that point, I was able to choose if I wanted to go to his parties or not. I wasn’t forced to.”

“Well, I’m glad you went to that one.”

“Which one?”

Sam playfully flicks him on the side of his jaw. “The one where we met, dumbass.”

“Oh? Oh yes,” Castiel agrees quickly, a little embarrassed that his mind didn’t immediately jump to the first time they met. Perhaps the wine is getting to him. “I’m glad too.”

After a minute or two of enjoyable silence, Castiel starts up again. “Our apartment…” 

Sam waits for him to continue but by the looks of it, he has no intention of finishing that sentence. “‘Our apartment’ what?”

“No, no, no,” Cas furiously shakes his head side to side, ruining what is left of his once combed hairstyle as it brushes against the couch pillow. “ _Our_ apartment.”

“Oh,” Sam sighs happily, realizing that it was a statement of awe and not just a fragment of a longer thought. “Yeah, pretty cool, right?”

“Not just ‘cool,’” Castiel replies, rolling in place, shifting enough to lay against Sam’s side and see his face from where he rests his head against Sam’s shoulder. His voice gets increasingly more somber, more pensive. “I’m happy… that you agreed to live together.”

“Hm?” he hums, curling an arm tighter around Cas’ waist. “Of course.”

“I asked you with little consideration. I’m not sure why I did it in the first place.”

Sam frowns.

“But I’m glad I did it. It simply felt like the right thing to say. It feels right for us.”

“Mhm,” Sam agrees, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s temple. He’s glad too. Initially, moving in together never really crossed his mind—he’s been too busy thinking about classes, papers, exams, grades, and work. But Castiel is right: it seems like the right thing to do. 

Or rather the _natural_ thing to do. It feels natural—inhabiting the same space as his boyfriend, making a commitment to each other and taking another step in their relationship. Something that feels concrete and lasting, something that will bring them even closer. And he looks forward to their future more and more every day.

“Do we have to set any ground rules?” Sam muses, eyes growing tired as the night moves on and the alcohol settles in his system. The thought just popped into his head suddenly, but it’s still a good thing to ask. It’s probably ideal to get it out of the way now.

Castiel’s head perks up off the pillow, attention zeroing in on Sam. “For what?”

“For living together.”

“I think the rules of common sense and courtesy apply,” Castiel says, yawning during the last few syllables. He’s obviously starting to feel tired after their long day of manual labor. “Knock on the bathroom door, clean the dishes you use… that sort of thing. I don’t think we’ll run into any problems. If so, let’s be open about it.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sam relaxes a little. “I was just hoping that we don’t have to draw some weird duct tape line across the apartment, dividing it in half into ‘your side’ and ‘my side.’”

“That would be stupid.” Castiel rolls his eyes. “Dividing the bed in half would be difficult, anyways. You sleep like a starfish when you’re sick.”

“Dean always described it as a sky-diver,” he mumbles. He clears his voice. “But I’m jus’ saying, if you end up not liking—”

“Sam, you’ve practically lived over at my apartment for the past year. I have faith in us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam relents, thinking about all the time he’s spent over at Castiel’s one-bedroom apartment. During that time, half of his small wardrobe migrated there and was stashed away in Castiel’s hall closet, not to mention they already started doing laundry together and he spent at least three nights a week there on a regular basis. Transitioning to having a roommate again will be simple and easy, especially since Cas isn’t just any roommate. “It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine here.”

“Besides,” Castiel yawns. “This place is much better. Your old apartment was pretty shitty.”

“Cas!”

“What?” he says innocently. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

Sam flashes him a stern look but it quickly dissolves into laughter. “Well, you’re definitely not wrong.”

“Mhmm…” Cas mumbles, eyelids falling closed. “Thought so.”


	3. Chapter 3

It’s Monday afternoon and Castiel pulls his car into the apartment’s designated spot, just outside their front door. He’s just returning from his first full day of working at Channel Seven, and it was a little rough. The early morning began with a pretty optimistic tone, but when he stepped outside, the sky was gray and there’s nothing more foreboding than the dark storm brewing in the sky. Thankfully it’s cleared up little by little, just as his day got better little by little. 

Castiel is thankful to be back in a peaceful space, without all the hustle and noise of a news station working furiously all day to produce good programs and reports. He’s been on his feet all day, running about doing whatever is asked of him—mostly sending messages, shuffling paperwork, checking scripts for grammar and spelling just minutes before they’re meant to be read on air—and he looks forward to the comfort of a warm cup of black coffee and the soft cushions of the couch.

When the door swings open, Castiel freezes mid-step in the doorway, taken aback by the sight of what’s become of the apartment.

There are DVDs everywhere, littering their living room carpet like a poorly made checkerboard pattern of black and beige. Sam’s in the center of it all, kneeling beside a few opened cardboard boxes. His head whips up when he hears the door open and Castiel can almost immediately spot the look of pure frustration on his boyfriend’s face, marring his features. For a moment, neither of them makes any motion to say or do anything.

Running a hand through his hair, Sam speaks. “Why didn’t we pack these in alphabetical order?”

Castiel’s eyes narrow, brow furrowing. “We did.”

“Oh,” Sam says, shoulders dropping as he looks at the DVDs scattered around him in separate piles. “Damn.”

“I suppose we could have labeled them better,” Cas says, tossing his keys onto the coffee table and dropping his messenger bag before kneeling in a small empty space across from Sam. “One of these boxes was supposed to be A through E.”

Sam glances around, tilting different boxes until he finds one that contains mostly letters from the very beginning of the alphabet. He drags it over and places it between them. “Uh, this one I think.”

“The boxes must have been shaken in the truck,” Castiel surmises, taking another box and sifting through it. “They are a little out of order.”

“I’ll take the first half of the alphabet and you take the second,” Sam says. “Deal?”

Castiel nods, dragging the box he was looking through in front of him. The DVDs aren’t in their original neat stacks but rather jumbled up all over. He sighs, pulling a few and trying to organize them in a stack beside his knees. At least they’re grouped relatively close to each other, otherwise starting from the beginning once again would be terrible.

“Here’s a W,” Sam says.

“And here’s a B for you,” his boyfriend replies, handing him _The Bicycle Thief_ from a few feet from his left. “I thought we were going to unpack things slowly?”

“Yeah, well, I had some time to kill before my shift tonight.”

“You could have waited for me. It should be a group effort.”

“Yeah…” Sam says again, sheepishly. “I thought it would be a nice surprise. You could come home to a few less boxes to worry about.”

Castiel eyes him suspiciously, giving him that slight tilt of his head and a scant glimpse of a pink tongue darting out to wet chapped lips. The scrutiny makes Sam nervous. “You’re just procrastinating, aren’t you?”

“What? Of course not—” He pauses when Castiel’s glare amps up a few notches. “Yeah, okay. Maybe just a little. Or a lot.”

“Sam—”

He throws up his hands in defense. “I’m starting tomorrow! I just need a day or so to, you know, settle in and stuff.”

“If you say so,” Castiel says, sighing as he reaches out to playfully tap the top of Sam’s head with _Good Will Hunting._

Working together, they’re almost finished with putting them on the bookshelf by the time Sam has to leave for work.

“We can finish the rest tonight?” Sam offers, pulling on his black work shoes and tying the laces next to the door. He’s already dressed in his white work shirt, a little wrinkled from being packed away for a few days, and his black slacks.

Castiel shakes his head, rising to his feet and crossing the room. “There’s only a few more, I’ll do it.”

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sam says, the standard farewell when he usually leaves Castiel’s apartment to go back to his place or to work. It spills from his lips automatically, out of habit. “I mean, I guess I’ll see you tonig—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Castiel reaches his arms around Sam’s neck and pulls him in for a quick peck. “Come home safely.”

The statement makes Sam blush profusely, cheeks beginning to burn red as Sam quickly nods and escapes the apartment, just narrowly forgetting his phone and bag sitting on the floor near the front door.

Sitting in the back row of the Route 22 bus, Sam tries to sort out what he’s feeling. Sooner or later, he’ll have to get used to the notion that they’re living together. That they have made a home together. Just thinking about it makes his heart flutter.

His previous places to live—his dorm, his old apartment—have just been places to him, a place to put his stuff and to lay his head at night. But this is different. Now, Castiel and he have a place to call home, to return to after work.

“Oh god,” Sam mutters to himself in realization, digging into his drawstring bag in search for his phone. Quickly, he taps out a text.

_[Sam: I never got to ask you about your first day of work. I’m sorry!]_

_[Cas: I’ll tell you about it when you get home.]_

_Home._ There it is again—it’s almost like Cas is teasing him with the word, that cruel man. It echoes through Sam’s head like a shout in a canyon, stirring something his heart. He feels like such a lovestruck teenager in deep puppy love, but simply the idea of having a home and sharing it with the man he’s come to love so much just makes him so happy. 

It must show on his face since Ellen asks him “Well well, what’s gotten into you today?” He simply smiles and gives a quiet ‘nothing.’ Not even Maggie’s dirty glare can get him down.

Sam jerks awake when a heavy weight settles in the curve of his back, just at the curve of his spine. He’s being pressed into the dark green couch cushions from the center and it keeps him there like a vice.

“Hmrgh?” He mumbles, twisting his head a little to see Castiel back from work, currently sitting on top of him like he’s _part of the couch._

“Oh hello,” Cas says, voice backed by a small hint of snarky wit. The edge of his lips crack open to reveal a grin. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Welcome home,” Sam greets him in return, voice garbled by the pillow smooshed against his cheek. He keeps his smile to himself when he sees that the word gives Cas a similar reaction, his head turning away as a faint pink color blossoms on his cheeks.

“How is studying for the LSAT going?” Castiel asks him after a beat of silence, and Sam just lets out a long pitiful groan in response. “You haven’t started?”

He shakes his head, the motion disrupted by the pillow. “No, I’ve started. It’s just… ugh.”

Castiel pats Sam’s shoulder in sympathy, making no move to get off of Sam. 

Twisting and turning and struggling under his boyfriend’s weight, Sam flips himself over to his back, leaving a space on the edge of the couch for Castiel to sit anywhere but on top of him. His boyfriend settles for perching himself on the edge near Sam’s waist. “How was work?”

“Busy, as always,” Cas supplies. “I ran errands for the producer, mostly getting copies made and being the middleman between her and the post-production team. All very dull work so far, though she did have me attend a brainstorming meeting, but I felt I couldn’t say much because I’m still very new to the team and my knowledge is lacking, to say the least.”

“You’ll get there someday,” Sam says, fighting through a yawn.

After a minute of quiet, Castiel speaks again. “Do you remember Becky?”

“My Becky or crazy Becky?”

“Crazy Becky.”

“Yeah.” Sam remembers her all too well. As the treasurer of The Cinematic Society, she’s crossed their path more than a few times. One too many times. She struck him as a very obsessive person, always standing a little too close to Sam before and after meetings and always rushing up to talk to him about anything and everything, all of which sparked a quite endearing possessive streak in Castiel last term. “Why?”

“She’s one of my coworkers.”

That gets Sam’s attention. “Really?”

Cas frowns. “Yes. She’s a intern journalist for the channel website. Technically she can work from anywhere, but she still chooses to come do her work at the station for some reason.”

“Weird.”

“She asked about you today.”

Just what Sam was hoping not to hear. “And what did you say?”

This earns him another grin, this time a little more devious. “I told her that you’re very happy and now that we’re living together, we’re able to have lots of explicit sex.”

“No way! You didn’t—!”

“No, I didn’t,” Castiel relents after enjoying Sam’s scandalized expression for a few moments. “But I have a feeling that would have made her bother me less. I just told her that you were attending Stanford for one more year and that we just found an apartment.”

Sam lets out a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s okay, I guess.”

“Have you eaten dinner?” Castiel asks, changing the subject.

“No, I was waiting for you. What do you want to eat?”

“I chose the last time. It’s your turn.”

Sam purses his lips, thinking about what they have in the fridge and cupboards and what they could cobble together in the next hour before he has to leave for work. “I’m craving pancakes.”

“Now?” Castiel asks, drawing up his oxford’s sleeve to glance at his wristwatch.

“Have you never had breakfast for dinner?”

“No?”

“Well, let’s change that.”

Sam is at work for an early day shift in the late afternoon of the following day when his phone vibrates in his pocket. The occurrence surprises him—he must have completely forgot to take it out and put it in his knapsack in the breakroom before clocking in. Technically he should ignore it since it’s against the restaurant’s professional guidelines, but he can’t help to glance at it in the spare moments he has between taking orders and serving plates.

_[Cas: Guess who just received passwords for the station’s Twitter and Instagram?]_

Sam types out a short text secretly when Ellen turns the other way. _[Sam: >:D]_

_[Cas: >:(]_

He laughs, sliding his phone back into his pocket for the rest of his shift. Castiel doesn’t text him again, but he doesn’t need to. Sam walks into their apartment to witness a very distraught Cas hunched over his laptop, hands raking through his hair.

“Why do people do this for fun?”

“Do what?”

“Twitter.”

Sam shrugs. He literally doesn’t know what the appeal is or even what the website is really about. All he knows is that celebrities often make a fool of themselves on it and others are just for promotional stuff.

“The studio is following other networks, but I’m not allowed to favorite or retweet things from them. Doesn’t that defeat the purpose? Does it not show good sportsmanship?” He lets out a frustrated groan. “One hundred and forty characters isn’t enough.”

“How about you take a break from that for a while and we can watch a movie?” Sam asks, pulling a Redbox case from the bottom of his bag.

Castiel’s attention is immediately peaked, looking grateful for any sort of distraction. “What did you have in mind?”

“Have you ever seen _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_?”

His boyfriend shakes his head.

“Excellent.” Sam always found joy in finding cult classics that Castiel has never seen before. It’s long since been his thing and he’s only been wrong once—he would have never guessed Castiel would have seen _V for Vendetta,_ but apparently he wrote a symbology paper on it during their freshman year. By the end of the movie, Castiel is frowning and Sam takes that to be a bad sign. When he asks if he enjoyed the movie or not, he shakes his head furiously.

“I just don’t really understand what happened. What was the ultimate question? Why was it forty-two? ”

“Try not to overthink it,” Sam says, chuckling. He throws their shared blanket off his lap and stands to stretch. “Time for bed?”

“Maybe if I watch it again it’ll be more clear,” Castiel says mostly to himself, still deep in thought.

“Seriously, Cas. Just don’t overthink it.”

“Hm,” he returns, rising to his feet and letting the blanket fall to the floor and puddle around his feet. 

Twenty minutes later, they’re finally settled in bed under the white duvet. Sam tries pulling it over his head, curling it around his shoulder as he tries to get comfortable. His eyes are nearly closed when a familiar voice drags him back to consciousness. “But why were the mice the ultimate rulers of Earth?”

“Oh my god, go to sleep.”

Thankfully Cas doesn’t bring up the movie the next morning—Sam had zero answers to any of his questions, the movie has never meant more than just a few laughs—but instead spends part of breakfast on Google, looking for metafiction articles in whatever film archives he’s a member of.

Sam’s about halfway through his first practice exam when Castiel comes home after finishing his first full week of work. He stands in the doorway, messenger bag still slung over his shoulder, and frowns until Sam gives him an inquisitive look.

“I hate Twitter,” Cas simply declares before disappearing off into the kitchen only to emerge with a bottle of wine and a glass. He pauses, gesturing over his shoulder. “Want some?”

“No thanks, I’ve got work,” Sam says with a shake of his head as Cas pours himself a generous serving of burgundy wine. “Stressful day?”

“Not particularly, but I seriously want to kill Twitter.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“I know that,” Castiel says, taking another sip of his drink. “I just don’t understand how anyone enjoys it… or how to properly use it, for that matter.”

Sam shrugs. “What are they even having you do with it?”

Castiel drags a hand down his face in aggravation. “I don’t know, tweet about lesser known stories that won’t receive airtime and anchor updates and other promotions that I truly doubt anyone will care about.” He rolls his eyes, throwing his hands up. “‘Sarah Hoffman shares the regional dog show highlights tonight at 9pm!’ and stuff like that.”

“There’s a dog show?”

“No, I made that up.”

Sam can’t help but to feel disappointed. It would be really nice to have a dog. He’s always dreamed of having one but his family moved around too much. He had a goldfish that he won at a school spring carnival in the fourth grade, but otherwise a dog has just been a distant dream. Though, now that they’ve got a better place—

“We don’t have the time or money for a dog right now,” Cas reminds him.

Sam’s head whips up. _‘Novak mind reading powers strike again!’_ “I wasn’t—”

“You definitely were,” he says, nodding knowingly. “Maybe someday, but probably not anytime soon.”

“Yeah... you’re right.”

Castiel downs the rest of his wine in one gulp, speaking over his shoulder as he heads to the kitchen to put his glass in the sink. “Though, for future reference, I like chocolate Labs and Irish Setters.”

“Really?” Sam says, calling after him. “You sure you don’t want like ten chihuahuas?”

“I don’t think I could handle even one of those.”

Though Sam tries to study his LSAT guidebook a little longer, he soon gives up, unable to focus on anything other than their future dog. Call him sentimental, call him lovestruck, but he really can’t wait for that to happen. Living together with Cas, with a dog and hopefully a full-time job as a lawyer? Sign him up.

It’s been weeks— _weeks_ —since he’s embarked on studying for the LSAT.

It’s somewhere near two in the morning when Sam feels like he just can’t focus on the pages before him anymore. The words are blurring together in his head and he just can’t recall what he’s read in the past hour, even though a good fifty pages must have flown by his eyes.

He leans back in his chair, straightening his back that has spent too many hours hunched. It cracks several times and it makes him want to moan in relief. His posture is usually pretty good, but he must be forgetting to square his shoulders and sit up properly with all this studying.

Determined to look somewhere else that isn’t a white page of a book or the bright screen of his laptop, he spins in his desk chair. The living room is pretty dark except for the streetlight outside the window and the small lamp that burns hot on the desk beside the stack of books he’s practically stolen from the library. There’s still a sliver of light peeking through the bottom of their bedroom door so Castiel must still be awake. Or maybe fallen asleep with the lamp on.

Sam’s eyes wander across the desktop, pointedly avoiding the large leather-bound reference book laid open above his notebook, full of scratchy handwritten notes that he’s not even sure will be coherent tomorrow morning. His laptop goes to sleep quickly from disuse, dimming the light a little and making Sam’s eyes and head hurt a little less.

Neatly laid out beside his laptop, his phone sits silently—ignored, not forgotten. He doesn’t really have many people to text, not at this hour at least, but he made a pact with himself that he wouldn’t touch it until he got through the first half of the book. 

He stares at it, considering it for only a few moments before snatching it up off the table. The corners of his lips turn up slightly as he flips it open and composes a new text. Castiel’s in the next room, only separated by a barrier of drywall and paint, but it doesn’t stop Sam.

_[Sam: What’s up?]_

A minute passes before a response comes back.

_[Cas: Reading. Also sleeping.]_

_[Sam: Both, at the same time? Sleeding?]_

_[Cas: Aren’t you studying? Why are you texting me? You’re only one room away.]_

_[Sam: I’m taking a break.]_

He smiles as he types out the next text, not waiting for a response from Castiel.

_[Sam: I could really use a kiss right now.]_

A dozen seconds pass.

_[Cas: Then come get it.]_

Abandoning his phone on the desk, Sam walks the few feet between the living room desk and the bedroom door, knocking first out of habit even though they share the room. A soft ‘yes’ allows him in. Castiel is waiting for him, propped up against pillows and the headboard and giving him a soft smile that is warm like the light of the bedside lamp.

Sam stands in the doorway for a moment, drinking in the sight he still can’t believe he has the privilege of seeing whenever he wants before walking towards the side of the bed where Castiel rests. 

“I’ve come to collect,” he says with a wolfish smile, coming to sit on the edge of the bed near Cas’ waist. Bracing one hand on the lacquered headboard, Sam leans in to press his lips to Castiel’s in a chaste kiss.

Bed-warmed fingers come up to wrap around the collar of his tee shirt, dragging him in a few inches as Castiel deepens the kiss. Their mouths move together in sync and it’s intoxicating, but it only lasts until Sam finally remembers that there’s a stack of books a foot high in the next room that need to be read and he has to forcibly reel himself back.

When they part, Castiel deflates ever so slightly, a tiny frown gracing his lips before he flashes Sam a sly smirk and tightens his hold on Sam’s shirt. “There is more where that came from, but only if you’ll take a break.”

“I’m already—”

“A sleeping break,” Castiel interrupts, accurately anticipating his argument. Sometimes Sam wonders if Castiel would have made a good lawyer, the fear of public speaking aside. “You should get some rest.”

“But I’m—” Sam tries, pulling away but Cas’ fingers grip his shirt tighter.

“You’ve studied very hard today. I’m tired and so are you, so sleep with me?”

Sam’s heart skips instinctively at the offer, worded in such a way that his mind would jump to something else in a different situation. Even so, the fluffy down comforter and the promise of a few unconscious hours is too enticing. Over the past couple of weeks, Sam has rarely been in bed at the same time as his boyfriend. Between working a full-time summer schedule at Ellen’s restaurant and studying for what could possibly be the most important test of his life thus far, Sam doesn’t get a lot of sleep. Or when he does, it’s at strange hours of the day, usually after Castiel has left for his own job and only for a few hours until he drags himself back to his desk.

Sam realizes he hasn’t given Castiel an answer yet. Though his books and study guide still beckon him back, tugging on him like a ball and chain, the decision has already been made. 

However, it doesn’t stop him from taking a moment to exaggerate his consideration to Castiel’s request. He rolls his eyes and makes a humming noise as he appears to think hard about it.

“Sam,” Cas says impatiently, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah, I know. I will,” Sam relents with another smile, patting his boyfriend’s thigh through the comforter as he straightens up. “I’ll just go get changed.”

“Hurry, or I’ll fall asleep without you.”

It only takes minutes for Sam to change out of his gray sweatpants and into his pajama pants, wash his face, and brush his teeth in the bathroom before returning to their room. The covers are already pulled back for him and Cas has buried himself underneath the big fluffy white duvet, laying on his side and facing the middle of the bed.

Sam slips in beside him without a word, covering himself up properly with the blanket before shuffling closer to the other bed occupant. Castiel’s slightly outstretched arm is all the invitation Sam needs to reach out and pull him to his chest, entangling their bodies as they lay pressed together. It was almost a little too warm to be this close or under something heavier than just a sheet, but Sam would rather hold the man he seems to be missing more and more as the summer goes on.

Castiel shifts in his arms, trying to find a comfortable position before relaxing completely. He sighs deeply against Sam’s collarbone before stretching to plant a kiss on the ridge of Sam’s jaw. Smiling, Sam cranes down to press his lips against Cas’ forehead before rolling them over a little so he can reach the lamp on Castiel’s nightstand, pulling the cord and plunging them into darkness.

“Good night,” Sam says, settling back into the mattress. The dark of the lightless room feels good on his eyes, and the pulsing headache that has been building behind his eyes eases ever so slightly. “You know—”

“Sam,” Cas’ voice sounds through the dark somewhere just below his ear and what feels like an elbow bumps purposefully into Sam’s ribs. “Go to sleep.”

 _‘Things always come full circle,’_ Sam thinks. It’s his turn to be coaxed into sleeping. He really must be exhausted, because Sam falls asleep quickly after that, smiling.

The night isn’t nearly long enough, and the next morning comes too quickly. The blackout curtains that Sam installed on all the windows during the first week after they moved in do a good job on blocking the rising California sun, but the birds are still awake and chirping the day away already.

Sam wakes up to the sounds of those birds just outside their window and the distant rumble of cars on the street. Without even needing to look at his phone, he knows his alarm should go off any minute now. Feeling better rested than he has in days—no, weeks—he knows he should get out of bed, grab something to eat and get back to studying but the whole concept of leaving the soft warmth of the bed is incredibly unappealing.

Only a foot away, Castiel slumbers peacefully, having rolled away from him sometime during the night. His head lolls slightly to the side and his hair, which still smells like the sandalwood-scented shampoo that sits on the shower shelf, sticks up on the one side, like always. Sam watches his chest rise and fall, slow and steady. 

There’s nothing more serene than this moment, like all of his stress and worries have melted away if only for a short while, and he would do anything to freeze this second in time and frame it forever.

After pressing a brief kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead, Sam sneaks out of the bedroom, attempting to avoid the squeak that their door makes when opened more than halfway. It squeaks anyways and Sam chides himself for not getting WD-40 at the grocery store after work on Wednesday, but Castiel continues to sleep. After a stop to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face, Sam pours himself a full bowl of dry Cheerios before returning to the god-forsaken desk he’s become chained to for weeks.

Everything is laid out on its surface just how he left it only a handful of hours before, and when Sam finally settles down and gets a good look at his notes, they don’t look as bad as he feared. Some of the words are scribbles—where Sam’s eyes probably closed for a second and began to drift off—but they’re easy enough to guess within the greater context.

Sam is able to finish taking notes on the rest of the book by the time Castiel emerges from their room, still bleary-eyed and bed-headed from staying up much later than he usually does. After closing the door behind him, Castiel takes one look at Sam at his desk before walking past, heading straight for the kitchen.

The clattering sounds of pots and pans and the snap of the coffee maker’s lid closing alerts him that Cas is actually going through the trouble to make breakfast instead of just scrounging something up from the cabinets.

He’s fully absorbed in an article in the American Journal of Law when the sweet aroma of something sugary and the bitterness of fresh coffee snaps him out of his concentration. Castiel pads out of the kitchen, still wearing loose pajama pants and sleep shirt and carrying a large plate of pancakes and syrup balanced in one hand and two steaming mugs grasped in the other.

“Here you go,” Castiel says, placing the plate and mug next to Sam’s elbow on the only free space left on the desk, wedging it between stacks of books.

Glancing at the food for only a moment, Sam looks away. “No thanks, I already ate.”

Castiel sighs. “You didn’t even finish your cereal. In fact, I don’t think you even touched it.”

He’s right and Sam knows it. But he’s gone without breakfast before, countless times, and studying for the LSAT just seems more important right now. Sam needs all the time he can get to study for this test at the end of the summer. He can eat later.

“I’m not even hun—”

“Sam,” Castiel breathes out heavily, sitting precariously on the edge of the desk, on the few inches of space not covered with books and printed PDFs of journal articles. “You have to eat something. I know you’ve been forgetting.”

“Cas—” Sam rubs the bridge of his nose, clenching his eyes shut as he staves off the beginning of another headache. Usually they don’t start this early in the day.

“Sam,” he tries again, this time softer and more like a plea. Sam feels limber fingers run gently through his hair, brushing it out of his face and behind his ear. The comforting gesture makes him open his eyes and look at Cas, who still overs over him. “I’m worried about you.”

His heart drops a little at the declaration. He never wanted Cas to worry about anything, especially him. Sam’s not sure if he should apologize or say something to soothe this deep set concern, but Castiel continues before he’s able to utter a word.

“You’re working so hard,” he says, fingers threading through Sam’s hair one last time before tracing along his jaw. Sam unconsciously leans into the tender gesture, seeking out the warmth and kindness of Cas’ fingertips. “But you’re forgetting to take care of yourself. Eating and sleeping are important and I’m worried you’re not allowing yourself to do either…”

Eyes lowering, Sam knows that Castiel’s concerns are completely valid. He can’t really remember the last full meal he’s had, only small things here and there that wouldn’t satisfy a normal person for a day, not to mention weeks like Sam has been living.

Oh god, and _sleep._ Last night was the first time he has slept more than three hours at a time since before finals week began, way back at the beginning of summer. It felt good—it _feels_ good, being well rested and having Castiel’s fingers run through his hair.

Said fingers have stilled in Sam’s silence and he looks back up to see Cas staring at him intently with a look of deep concern on his face, ingraining it with lines where he frowns slightly. It occurs to Sam that he’s waiting for some sort of response.

“Uh…”

Castiel smiles warmly, laughing soundlessly at Sam’s obliviousness. It’s only seconds until Sam follows suit. Damn his boyfriend’s contagious smile.

“Okay, okay. I’ll eat,” Sam finally relents, chuckling at the laughable situation. He takes the offered fork and knife that Castiel holds out and eats delicious golden-brown pancakes with strawberry syrup and scrambled eggs while bent over a collection of journals, sorting them into piles as he finishes them.

Sometime before nine, Castiel slips out of the apartment and goes to work, leaving Sam alone with his study guide and law reference books which are probably overdue at this point in time. Much to his surprise, time moves all too quickly and it’s late in the afternoon in the blink of an eye. He’s not exactly sure if this is a good or bad thing—but after noticing that he finished another four pages of notes and reasonably passed a portion of a practice exam in the back of of the book, Sam feels accomplished.

He makes sure to eat something substantial—well, substantial to his recently diving standards: his neglected bowl of cereal from the morning with cold milk and half of an apple—before Castiel returns. He’ll undoubtedly make Sam take a break to eat dinner and make sure he gets a decent amount of sleep tonight, for which he’s grateful.

And sure enough, he does those things. Dinner is at seven and Castiel corrals Sam into bed just after one in the morning. While laying in bed and waiting for sleep to take him, Sam realizes just how much he’s been neglecting himself. It’s the first time in weeks that he’s eaten three times a day and slept properly. He’s also noticed that he’s been able to focus and be a lot more productive than usual today, most likely because he was well-fed and well-rested.

From then on, Sam starts making a conscious effort to take better care of himself. He sets timers for everything: naps, meals, when to go to work, study breaks. It’s one of the craziest things he’s ever done but he deems it absolutely necessary for his own sanity and health. Of course, Castiel helps by reminding him to eat and sleep and get some fresh air every once in a while. Hell, they even have a date night for the first time in forever and go to the vintage theater downtown to see _The Adventures of Robin Hood_ —the first film adaptation of the story ever made, according to Cas.

Though studying for the LSAT has been quite possibly the worst, most intense thing he’s ever done—like finals week on steroids, four times as long—Sam knows he’ll come out of it alive.

After all, he’s in good hands.

The remaining days leading up to the exam go better than Sam expected. After a steady sleep schedule and eating regular meals, he feels better, more focused. He’s able to manage his time better, have a little time for himself and Castiel and exercise, which he sorely misses. Literally—his muscles are so sore when he runs a few miles and hits the gym a few times. Even Ellen comments on how Sam seems to be doing better at the restaurant during his shifts.

Don’t get him wrong, studying for the LSAT is still the seventh circle of Hell and he wishes he was anywhere but stuck inside, poured over a dozen law texts and flipping through a couple hundred flashcards. But Castiel is right there with him when he can, even helping him study and timing his practice exams, quizzing him at random times of the day with flashcards printed from the internet.

On Saturday, the morning of the exam, Sam wakes up from a night of fitful sleep to the lingering smell of fried eggs and almost burned toast. It confuses him for a moment because he knows Castiel was supposed to leave at dawn that morning for some special production assignment just south of San Francisco that popped up unexpectedly a few days ago. Being pretty much a lackey, Castiel had no choice but to go, despite it not being a day he was supposed to work.

When he stumbles into the kitchen after showering and dressing for the day, there’s a plastic wrap-covered plate in the refrigerator and a small note torn from a yellow legal pad taped to its door. After putting the plate in the microwave for a minute, Sam paces the length of the small kitchen as he reads the note written in Castiel’s handwriting.

_‘Sam,_

_I’m sorry I couldn’t be here for the morning of your test. I made breakfast for you so please be sure to eat it as you will need the energy for today. It is in the refrigerator and only needs to be heated for a minute. You’ve studied so hard over the past few weeks and I know that you’ll do well._

_Try your best and you will succeed. I’m proud of you._

_Castiel’_

He reads over the closing sentiment a few times. The phrase “I’m proud of you” echoes in his mind endlessly and he smiles. Though he could barely sleep the night before due to nerves, he feels a little bit better now—a little more settled, a little more confident. Like the test is a doable task and not some terrifying undertaking that he’ll definitely fail.

Rebecca picks him up in her car just after breakfast and they start the journey to the testing center in San Jose. Determined to study all the way up to the last second, Sam brings all of his course materials with him: the notes he’s meticulously taken over the past few weeks, the expensive prep book he spent a day and half’s wages on, and a small booklet of practice questions.

And, among all the sheets of typed out vocabulary lists and materials, Castiel’s note.

“What is that?” Becky asks, looking away from the road for a second to look at the handwritten note scrawled on yellow paper that doesn’t match the rest. “A cheat sheet? Sam, you’re smarter than that!”

“No,” Sam says, quickly folding up the note to hide it from her prying eyes. “Just some notes.”

“That didn’t look like notes,” she says, glaring at him from the corner of her eye with a smile dancing on her lips. Before he knows it, she reaches over and snatches it out of his folder and stretches it across the steering wheel.

“Rebecca!”

She takes a moment to read it.

“Oh my god, Sam. Castiel wrote you a note—a ‘good luck’ note!” Rebecca exclaims, eyes flashing from the road to the paper and back. “And he made you breakfast. Aww.”

“Keep your eyes on the road!”

“We’ll be fine. Besides, if we die on the way there, we won’t have to take the test!”

That’s horrendous logic but something in the back of Sam’s mind agrees with the statement. And that’s… unnerving.

During the pause, he seizes the opportunity to reclaim the piece of paper from her grasp, tucking it into the back of his prep book for safekeeping. Rebecca punches him in the shoulder, causing Sam to jump in his seat and drop the rest of his papers into his lap. “Oh my god! You two are the cutest thing in the world.”

“He is…” Sam says, running his fingers over the folded edge of the note that sticks out of the book’s pages. He’s not even sure why he brought it with him in the first place but it’s nice to have some tangible encouragement.

“I said ‘you two.’”

“Hm?”

“You’re _so_ gone for your boyfriend, it’s almost sickening,” Rebecca sighs dramatically, giving him a warm smile quickly after. “You already live together like an newlywed couple, and it’s been what? A month? Two?”

“Seven weeks,” comes his immediate response, the number falling from his lips against his will.

Her mouth drops open. “You even know how many weeks, Sam!”

“Can we focus?” Sam just wanted to run far away from this topic. The most important test of his life thus far is starting in less than an hour. He needed every last minute until then to review the few highlighted concepts that he hasn’t quite been able to nail.

“Right,” Rebecca agrees immediately, giving Sam a curt nod with a stern expression. Keeping one hand on the wheel, she reaches for the Redbull in one of the cup holders between them. She cracks it open with a curl of a single finger like a seasoned pre-law student and takes a long gulp of the vile drink. “Quiz me.”

After what felt like the longest and most intense test he’s ever taken, Sam returns home to an empty apartment. Castiel is nowhere in sight, but Sam didn’t really expect him to see him as the media event he’s covering is supposed to last all day.

Though it’s only mid-afternoon, Sam unceremoniously dumps all of his stuff—the hellishly expensive study materials he’s been practically dedicating his life to for weeks—in the armchair in the living room and promptly crawls into bed.

Once tucked away underneath the cool cotton of the duvet in the well-air conditioned bedroom, Sam finally feels what he’s been craving for weeks: the overwhelming sensation of peace and relief. There’s really no way to describe it. The test is over, and he’ll never have to take it ever again. He did his best, and he knows he at least got a good enough score to go to law school _somewhere,_ if not at Stanford or within the Ivy League.

And at this point in time, that’s all he can hope for. Best to keep expectations low right now.

Sam checks his phone for texts one last time— _[Becky: I was going to nap but Walk The Moon is in San Francisco tonight??? I can’t pass that up. Need more Redbull.]_ —before closing his eyes, drifting off quickly in pursuit of a well-deserved and hopefully undisturbed sleep.

After a handful of hours of blissful sleep, Sam wakes up naturally. The room is considerably darker than when he fell asleep earlier that afternoon. The alarm clock on his nightstand blinks 7:12 PM. No doubt, the sun has already dipped below the horizon and set the sky in a blaze of beautiful colors. 

He knows he should get up, but instead Sam groans and shoves his face into his pillow. He could easily sleep another ten hours if he wanted to but his stomach lets loose a loud growl, urging him to get up and get food before even thinking about sleeping more.

Sam rolls and flops onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Through the relatively thin walls of the apartment, he can hear sounds from the next room. Castiel must be watching another movie but Sam can’t pick out what which one as he can’t hear any words or sound effects clearly.

After splashing some water on his face and running a few fingers through his hair in front of the bathroom mirror, Sam finally emerges from the bedroom.

It’s strange. Castiel isn’t in the living room and the TV isn’t even on. Sam blinks at the empty living room a few times before he hears a familiar laughter coming from the kitchen. He follows the sound, wondering what his boyfriend could possibly be laughing at in the kitchen alone.

Except he’s not alone.

Castiel stands across the tile floor, leaning a hip on the edge of the counter and slightly turned to face the person standing at the stove. It only takes Sam a second to recognize the other man. 

The slope of his shoulders, the light brown short hair, and the slight bow of his legs.

 _Dean._ It’s Dean, here in his apartment. He turns turns to Castiel and says something, chuckling in the process. Blue eyes turn in Sam’s direction, causing Dean to pause and spin on his heels.

“Hey,” he says, flashing Sam a grin. “Look who’s finally back in the land of the living.”

“Dean,” Sam says, unable to move. He’s not sure what his voice sounds like. Shocked? Thankful? Relieved? Hopefully all three, because that’s what he’s currently feeling.

“Hiya, Sammy,” Dean smiles. He motions to Cas with a jerk of his head, keeping his hands occupied with the cooking before him. “We’ve just been catchin’ up. Cas here has been telling me all about your busy summer.”

Sam just stares. He must look ridiculous, just standing there like an idiot.

“Nice new place you’ve got here,” Dean comments, motioning to the kitchen around them with a spatula before tipping it in Cas’ direction. “And a good guy, too.”

Though he’s still at a loss for words, Sam finally gets his own feet to obey him. He closes the distance between him and his brother in two long strides and wraps his arms around Dean, who ardently returns the hug.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming by?” Sam demands as they part. The last thing he was expecting this summer was a visit from Dean. They hadn’t seen each other since the fight that happened when he first met Cas, but they still kept in touch ever since even though their relationship was a little wounded by the event.

“It was a surprise,” Castiel chimes in from where he stands in Dean’s place in front of the stove, flipping something with the spatula. Sam can’t see what they’re making for dinner, but it smells greasy and delicious. Just what he’s craving.

“How long have you guys been planning this?” Sam looks suspiciously between his brother and his boyfriend. How could they both have kept a secret from him? Well, Dean is the master of lying… but Cas? The man could barely keep birthday presents a secret, even with his poker face.

“Since we moved in.”

“Really?” _‘Such a long time?’_ Sam was always under the impression that Dean’s visits were spontaneous, off-the-cuff decisions. His brother has never been one for long standing plans.

“Yeah,” Dean says with a casual shrug. “Cas sent me a text giving me the lowdown, asking if I was going to be in the area anytime during the summer.”

Sam’s eyes narrow on his brother. “You’re never just ‘in the area.’”

“Only when I wanna be,” Dean replies with a smirk, fetching three plates from the table which Sam just noticed was set. Balancing them all in his grasp, he holds them out for Castiel to slide two golden-brown sandwiches onto each of them.

“Grilled cheese?” Sam asks, tilting his head. He’s surprised it’s not burgers. He can’t even recall a time that Dean visited and didn’t sniff out a new burger joint to try.

“Yeah,” Dean says with a pleased nod, raising his eyebrows. “With _bacon_.”

“Since when did we have bacon?” Sam tries to think of the last time they went grocery shopping. It’s not often they’d buy something like that, usually opting for a healthier alternative for breakfast.

Castiel takes two plates from Dean’s hold and carries them to the small kitchen table. “Dean insisted on buying us groceries to make dinner.”

“And beer,” Dean adds, setting three new bottles of El Sol on the center of the table along with his own plate.

“Incredible.” It’s been awhile since Sam’s had beer. Drinking just hasn’t been in the cards lately, as much as he would have liked to forget studying for a night and wake up hungover the next day. At this realization, Sam hums to himself. It’s strange to think he would have preferred a hangover to something but the thought still rings true. “That is so you, Dean.”

“Hey, if I’m gonna crash your place for dinner, it should at least be on me! None of that green stuff you always eat. Treat yourself every once in awhile, Sammy. Beer, bacon—and well, I’d usually say ‘babes’ but you seem to have that already handled.” 

The lighthearted statement accompanied by the shit-eating grin surprises him. Not only has Dean seemingly accepted the fact that his brother is dating an asexual man, but now he’s making jokes of it. Which, to be fair, is probably a sign that Dean’s come to be comfortable with the idea.

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam says after taking a bite out of the sandwich. It’s oozing with gooey cheese and grease and he’s instantly reminded how much he needed some good old-fashioned comfort food. It hits the spot perfectly after a long day, especially since he didn’t eat anything since breakfast.

“Dean bought dessert, too,” Castiel says after being the first to finish.

“Let me guess: pie?”

Dean feigns offense, quirking an eyebrow at him over his grilled cheese. “Would it be anything else?”

“No,” Sam answers, shaking his head with a smile. “Of course not.”

After a leisurely dinner of comfort food and listening to Dean’s unsurprisingly scandalous and debaucherous stories from traveling the road and being a drifter, they end up kneeling around the coffee table in the living room to play cards for the rest of the evening. They each have a slice of pecan pie beside them and they’re using a dollar’s worth of pennies each to place bets.

And it’s the happiest Sam’s been in a long time. Of course, that isn’t to say that he hasn’t been happy with his life—with dating and living with Castiel, working at Ellen’s, and going to school to pursue his dream career. But there’s just something to be said about having the two most important people in his life in the same room, happily reconciled and getting along spectacularly.

In Sam’s mind, there’s just nothing better than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there it is! A very open-ended sequel to _I Was Afraid When I Met You._ I really hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought--what you liked and disliked!--in a comment. It would totally and completely make my day. My love for these two in this universe is endless, and I do have a tiny epilogue chapter planned.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @ ghostgarrison

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing this for a very long time and I'm glad that I can finally post it. I'll post another chapter in a week! Thank you for your patience.
> 
> I also understand that I made nearly all the angels assholes but like... that's just how it is. They're the most fucked up and dysfunctional family and I believe it translates well. I've known quite a few families like this and it's not that far of a stretch.
> 
> Come visit me on Tumblr @ GhostGarrison


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